


The Redemptive Properties of a Proportional Ass

by Verfuhrer



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock Worship, Emily has a strong accent, F/F, Face-Fucking, Futanari, Harem, Horribly translated French, I swear there's plot in this somewhere, Large Cock, Lots of Cum, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Tracer has an ass to die for, Vaginal Sex, Widowmaker has a huge dick, Widowmaker redemption arc, lame jokes, sometimes wholesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 58,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28190844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verfuhrer/pseuds/Verfuhrer
Summary: Ever since her murder of Tekhartha Mondatta, there has been only one thing on her mind: the shapely ass of the Overwatch agent that tried (and failed) to stop her. With a mindset of determination and a lust in her loins, Widowmaker is determined to seduce that saucy Brit, despite the orders of her Talon overlords.(contains futa and most likely the most horribly translated French you've ever seen; starts off dark but everything's consensual)
Relationships: Emily/Lena "Tracer" Oxton/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix, Lena "Tracer" Oxton/Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix
Comments: 23
Kudos: 78





	1. First Contact

Chapter I: First Contact  
  
  
  
  
-Château Guillard-  
  
  
Amélie Lacroix was not a woman that one would typically consider to be a daydreamer. After all, she was a brainwashed assassin, an elite agent of the terror organization infamously known throughout the world as 'Talon'. Recognized more often by her new moniker of "Widowmaker", she was a ruthless killer that derived her only pleasures from putting bullets inside of whatever latest target that her bosses came up with. She hadn't much to complain about, were she to consider it. Good pay. Fun job. Coworkers that shared her general lack of empathy for others. Sometimes, Sombra would even invite her over for a quick fuck.  
  
But the most recent addition to Widowmaker's rather long kill-count, the now-deceased Omnic monk and the so-called leader of the Shambali, was something that she kept replaying in her head as she relaxed at her family's château near Annecy. Not the death itself, as Widowmaker rarely paid attention to her victims, as they were often of little importance to her. Instead, her attention was occupied on a certain Englishwoman that Overwatch had sent after her. The young agent had made quite an impression on Widowmaker, as it turned out.  
  
The Talon dossiers identified her as "Tracer", but what they had failed to mention was something Widowmaker picked up almost immediately: Tracer was one of the hottest women Widowmaker had ever seen.  
  
Perhaps not the prettiest of faces, nor the most impressive of busts, or even the most curvaceous of figures, no, but what Tracer _did_ have was the largest and most delectable derrière that Lacroix had laid eyes upon, outside of some lewd animations that she had the misfortune of catching Sombra schlicking to during one of the Talon operations several months ago.  
  
Though Widowmaker felt nothing, she could not escape an intense feeling of lust whenever the mental image of Tracer's bouncing ass entered her mind's eye. That and Widowmaker felt the most alive in a life-or-death situation, such was the state of her detachment from reality. Truly, nothing was able to get to her save the heart-pounding adrenaline that came from gunfights and stalking her prey. She had always assumed that it was some kind of sick deficiency within herself; the idea that the closest thing that she could become aroused by was when she was about to snuff out some poor sap's life was something that she knew most would find (justifiably) a bit off-putting, though obviously, at this point, she had little concern for such things. O'Deorain, that damnable mad scientist, had always told her that she had simply possessed a fetish for power dynamics, but Widowmaker had never paid her much mind.  
  
Though, as it appeared, a new challenger, in the form of this spunky British lass, had already approached.

More importantly, Tracer wanted to kill her too, and that was a major turn-on by itself.

Widowmaker recalled it well enough: the hunt of Mondatta was something she was quite proud of, if she were to describe it. She had staked the area perfectly and the mission was successful; after all, she had escaped almost entirely unharmed and Mondatta was dead. Well, as dead as an Omnic could be, she mused.  
  
Tracer had interrupted her kill only temporarily, though even Widowmaker admitted that it was in rather stupendous fashion: the British woman was a striking figure as she zig-zagged through the rooftops of King's Row, firing her pulse pistols akimbo and swearing vengeance on the Frenchwoman for the murder of the Omnic monk. Widowmaker had little doubt that if she had been less careful, it would have indeed gone quite poorly for her; Tracer was, after all, clearly no stranger to combat. Such a fact only strengthened her resolve to fuck the young Overwatch agent into submission, in fact.  
  
The unique quality (aside from her dazzling posterior, of course) of Tracer was the sheer persistence in Widowmaker's fantasies of her. It was a maddening conundrum for the French assassin; typically, any sexual proclivities she'd had were resolved fairly quickly and without attachment; after all, she herself was an imposing figure, tall and seductive, though cold (literally) and possessing a rather conspicuous blue pigmentation for her skin, and Widowmaker was all-too-aware that many found those qualities to be somewhat of a mood-killer. Despite this, Talon _did_ have its benefits; Sombra frequently hooked her up with contacts whenever she was desperate enough to request them.

Another possible reason that some of her potential bedmates (usually men) were quick to leave was upon the discovery of her rather impressive cock, if Widowmaker had to guess. It was a wild, rampaging thing when it was awakened, a beast of surging lust and rapacious desire that drove Widowmaker to temporary fits of desperation to sate her sexual appetite, usually with some of Sombra's aforementioned "no questions asked" contacts, or sometimes even feeling the mood during the hunt, as she discovered that the thrill of her sniper rifle being fired in rapidity was quite... exhilarating.

Truth be told, her memories were quite garbled due to Talon's interference (she had forgiven them this transgression with the copious amount of cybernetic enhancements they had provided as compensation), so she was unaware of whether she was born with such a prodigious penis or if it had been another of Talon's genetic modifications, though who had come up with the idea in that case was anyone's guess. Widowmaker didn't really mind either explanation, to be honest, as she was quite satisfied in being perhaps the world's only true hermaphrodite, possessing both sets of genitalia to her pleasure. And pleasure she indeed found.

In the case of Tracer, the writhing lust of her more masculine biology had risen once more. Though for reasons that Widowmaker could not discern, she felt a very strong desire to not share the knowledge of Tracer's attractiveness (or her presence at all, really) with her Talon compatriots. It was not in her nature to be possessive (especially over an agent of the enemy, no less), yet she could not stop herself. Those long, luscious legs? That adorable face and foolhardy naïveté? An ass made by the gods? In truth, it would be a dramatic waste to simply murder Tracer. That would be despoiling such a delicious prize, indeed.

The desire to see that woman on her knees, sucking her dick and guzzling her cum, was something that made Widowmaker insatiably distracted. So overpowering was this feeling that Widowmaker literally could not sit still in her château as she drank the aged wine that a member of the petite bourgeoisie such as herself could afford (though in truth, she had really only indulged in such fineries due to O'Deorain's personal tastes, as Widowmaker herself didn't have a strong taste for alcohol). Lacroix's sizable cock, straining and pulsating against her pants, threatening to escape lest she found a way to tame it. It seemed that heat had once again returned to her cold body, and in this instance, Widowmaker could not quench this flame with merely her rifle.

This was enough of an annoyance that Widowmaker could not simply abide the issue and do nothing to solve it, at the least. 'Twas not a seasonal erection, it seemed. How annoying.

She consulted her personal computer to check the Talon database under the assumption that they could provide additional intel on Tracer that she did not already possess herself, though unfortunately, her search was in vain. Apparently, Tracer was a rather elusive figure that had seemingly appeared overnight in the Overwatch roster during the Null Sector uprising (coincidentally also in London, as it turned out). Other than this, and a series of skirmishes that Tracer had engaged other Talon agents at, she was simply invisible. Widowmaker found this puzzling for such a brash and conspicuous individual, though her curiosity was piqued from the moment she saw the Brit's ass jiggle while she ran over Londonian rooftops.

Widowmaker resolved to unravel more of this mystery herself.

She informed Sombra that she would be taking a brief vacation (the hacker simply responded with a series of emojis, to her annoyance).

It was time for the spider to ensnare a new victim.

-The next day, near Heathrow Airport-

It was a cloudy evening (though in London that is perhaps tautological) by the time that Widowmaker's flight had landed at her destination, the first and hopefully only stop in her search to locate and investigate Tracer.

  
Widowmaker did find it rather amusing how often the common rabble were unable to discover her true identity. She contemplated this as she exited the airport and perused the streets of the capital of the United Kingdom, noting how even without the aid of Talons' numerous contacts throughout the world, she would still have likely been able to infiltrate this place without much difficulty. Or perhaps it was more of a testament to the almost-mystical camouflage that cosmetic enhancements could provide her. It was not much bother to apply a more inconspicuous skintone to her figure (mainly because blue people would stick out like a sore thumb outside of a James Cameron film), and indeed, Widowmaker had often done similar things to blend in at various social events that were not strictly affiliated with Talon so as to conceal her identity.

At such gatherings (and indeed, here as well), she was simply Amélie Lacroix, a reasonably affluent, perhaps even wayward, tourist from France. Few knew of her personage, fewer of her late husband, and as a result, she passed by the various patrons of the airport without nary as much as a glance. All the same, Widowmaker was not one to enjoy the spotlight; she was a much more isolated and carnal creature, preferring to enjoy the company of others when it suited her, which was typically within the confines of her bed, or nowhere at all.

Speaking of bedfellows, Widowmaker had already begun her search for her prey the moment she had landed in this rainy place. To her chagrin, Talon did not have a stock of umbrellas for their agents, so she was forced to acquire her own at a rather ridiculous exchange rate before she was able to proceed through the streets of this bustling city. Even as the twilight hours waned into the late evening, there were still plenty of pedestrians as far as the eye could see. Widowmaker at least acknowledged this would provide her an easier time accessing Tracer's trail if she needed to follow her.

Though the task of finding a singular person in an entire city might appear as an arduous, if not impossible, mission for most, Widowmaker was not such a limited individual. Indeed, even incognito and without her typical hunting gear, Widowmaker had the instincts of a predator and the hunt had indeed already begun.

To find one's prey, one must know one's prey.

Widowmaker had begun her mental cataloging of information about her British vixen target on the flight over: Tracer was English herself (rather obviously, given the accent and the outrageous lack of haute couture in her uniform) and likely local to London, given her fierce resistance to both Widowmaker herself and the Omnics only seven years ago when they had threatened the area. Widowmaker though it prudent to begin the search there. In all likelihood, this was Tracer's home turf, though she was not expecting visitors.

Truly, if Widowmaker was found out _at all_ during this escapade, she would be even more impressed (and aroused) than she already was. She liked to play with her food before devouring it, of course, as befitting a predator.

She had known King's Row as somewhat of a seedier area of the city than the rest, though in truth she had only minimal experience with the settlements of the United Kingdom throughout her operative career. She detested the food here, and Overwatch had a much stronger presence in the region than Talon could hope to compete with, at least for the moment. Still, Widowmaker found that her objective being ever closer was enough to see her through the foreign territory.

King's Row itself was a place of winding alleyways, old-style housing, and the closest thing to a cosmopolitan suburb, if she had seen it. What an odd conception for a place to to live.

Widowmaker had suspected that the influx of pedestrian traffic on account of the winter holidays (it was only a week prior to Christmas, after all) would have made the area densely populated with gift-shoppers, though it would appear she had miscalculated the appeal of King's Row to persons that weren't Omnic protesters and their sympathizers. A pity; she could have used the extra cover.

It was no matter, however, as she would likely return to the rooftops of this place to spot out likely hangouts for her target. Indeed, Widowmaker found it easy to find fire escapes and the like with which to scale these buildings even without her grappling hook. Perhaps the (relative) prosperity of this era had made the citizenry complacent enough to not question why a tall woman wearing a fashionable French coat would be interested in visiting a rooftop alone at night, or perhaps Widowmaker gave off an aura of intimidation so intense that none had even seen the action worth the effort. Either answer suited Lacroix's purpose aptly: she had reached the zenith of one Alderworth Hotel, with a perfect vantage point overseeing the vast proceedings of King's Row, though there not many walking these streets at such an hour.

Rather amusingly, Widowmaker recalled the building that she had lept from to finally pull the trigger on the late Mondatta several months ago, as it was within line of sight with the rooftop she was currently lying prone upon. She wondered if this was the apex of irony when, for reasons that she could not fully explain, she felt a sudden rush of emotions. Indeed, the mere memory of that day, with Tracer's swaying hips and sprightly step in her mental visage, Widowmaker had already made the mistake of arousing herself. Her organic python had already begun to complain of its containment within her pants in a rather annoying fashion, merely reminding her that the only way to deal with this problem was to successfully complete her search and slate her thirst.

It was unlike her, she noted, to have such a hair-trigger response to her own erections, but to be fair, the piece of ass she sought after was equally-unusual. Widowmaker renewed her search for the spunky British woman by scanning the streets below her once more, ignoring the throbbing warzone at her groin with the best effort she could muster.

Rather fittingly for a Christmas holiday, she mused, Widowmaker noted that she must have become exceptionally lucky overnight, as none other than Tracer herself had finally emerged on the lanes of this otherwise-deserted neighborhood. At the mere sight of her, Widowmaker's cock hardened even more, a distinct and animalistic desire overtaking her. She peered at her prey from her precarious perch atop the roof, noting that Tracer was (thankfully) unaware of her presence.

Perhaps this mission would be easier than she had first thought, though Widowmaker was not foolish enough to assume the objective was taken just so soon. She contented herself to observing Tracer's movements. For the moment.

The young British woman was moving through the streets at a rather frantic pace not unfitting of the glimpse of character, admittedly brief, that Widowmaker had seen firsthand those months ago. Tracer was, apparently, as energetic as she was in a firefight as she was in her domestic life as well. How novel.

The target in question was flitting between the various giftshops dotting the streets near the Meridian Theatre, apparently looking for something amongst their wares. Widowmaker noted this as curious.

_"An Overwatch agent purchasing Christmas gifts?"_ She thought to herself, rather bemusedly. She supposed it was to be expected; after all, not all of Overwatch were married to their professions as someone like Commander Morrison was, though to her chagrin, Widowmaker did then realize that if Tracer was purchasing a gift, there was indeed someone that she very quickly intended to give it to.

Family members were unlikely, as Widowmaker doubted that Tracer would have had to concern herself personally with such an arrangement; she could easily suggest that her profession (which would obviously not be publicly revealed as being an Overwatch agent) simply required lots of travel and she had not been able to acquire gifts, or other similar excuses. No, this amount of attention so close to Christmas indicated to Widowmaker that Tracer had someone special in mind. A lover, most likely.

A sudden flare of jealousy surged through Widowmaker's being, overriding her typical calm demeanor. This was rather annoying, as the process of observing Tracer moving in her usual fashion (re: with gloriously swaying hips and all) was making Widowmaker's stakeout (and her erection) harder by the minute. Action would have to be taken soon lest she make an improper mess of her expensive coat. And considering how nice it was, Widowmaker wanted to avoid such things if at all possible.

She would have to tail Tracer back to wherever she came from in order to confirm this theory of a lover. And if such were the case, Widowmaker would have to play a much larger role in a game of charisma than she had initially anticipated. At least she could say that this mission of her wasn't boring.

Keeping note of Tracer's current trajectory, moving south out of the square down more streets and dotting into and out of various gift stores, Widowmaker rapidly descended the fire escape of the building and nearly missed grabbing the handrail to propel herself downward safely due to the adrenaline coursing through her veins. Rarely were there things that truly got her blood pumping, but juicy asses of Overwatch agents was apparently one of them now, she suspected. Widowmaker made sure to check the surroundings for onlookers (of which there were none, thankfully), and she made her move in stalking her prey.

Tracer was continuing to (apparently, fruitlessly) search the stores in a mad dash to find whatever gift she was looking for, assuming Widowmaker's assumptions were correct. If anything, it was a miracle that she could encounter Tracer in such a distracted state, as she would be much less likely to notice someone tailing her. Though in all fairness, Widowmaker was an expert at such affairs nonetheless. Talon training was not e _ntirely_ worthless.

As she continued to observe Tracer, Widowmaker formulated several plans of attack, so to speak, as she considered her options. A straight-tail would likely not do her much good, as obviously the matter of breaking into Tracer's living space would be a great deal more difficult to accommodate, as well as the notion that she still didn't even know where such a place would be, assuming (again) that Tracer did not simply sleep at an Overwatch base, and infiltrating *that* without her gear would be, suffice to say, a real pain in the ass. Not even the kind that Widowmaker was into, unfortunately.

Violence was also not recommended, as Widowmaker was mostly curious just to learn more about Tracer in general and an interrogation would not be the most productive way to do things, even if it would be rather titillating to enact. No, the best strategy Widowmaker could concoct at the moment was to employ some of the charisma she was told she had plenty of and appeal to Tracer's good nature in an attempt to divulge more information.

_"A wolf in sheep's clothing? How blasé."_ Widowmaker thought to herself with a smirk as she decided on the best course of action to take. She reasoned that the role of a distressed foreign tourist in dire need of directions from a valiant hero (of which there was one just standing not even a dozen meters away) would be adequate, even if a rather overused trope.

Blood was pumping through Widowmaker's body at an alarming rate, much more than she was use to. The heightened reaction times of rushing adrenaline in her current form made her rather acutely aware of her surroundings, even as the tunnel vision of her prey proved ever oppressive to her senses. The raw desire that clouded her mind and engorged her cock was permeating her being, such that she knew immediate action would be the only solution. Throwing caution to the wind, Widowmaker adopted the persona of Amelié once more and approached the person of her obsession.

"'Ello? Excusez-moi? Mademoiselle?" Widowmaker called out to Tracer in a voice heavily accented with French (intentionally so), an octave or so higher than her normal voice. She prayed in desperation that Tracer would not be able to recognize the sound.

And to Widowmaker's unusual continued luck, it appears that she was none the wiser.

"Er, 'ello there missus, can I 'elp you with something?" Tracer replied, turning rather immediately and clearly caught a bit off guard.

Gods above, it was strange for Widowmaker to be so jittery. The anticipation was killing her, but she could not let Tracer catch even a hint of her true motive, not yet.

"Oui, oui, pardon, but can you 'elp me? I zeem to be quite lost."

She tried to phrase it in the most innocent manner possible, but Widowmaker feared that that the slightest mistake on her part would be exponentially amplified by her current aroused state, lacking the usual professional touch of her typical detached personality. It was an overwhelming and consuming fear, but she remained steadfast. If there was anything worth the trouble, it was the ass attached to this woman; of that, she was sure.

Fortunately, it appeared that even out of Overwatch, Tracer was eager to play the hero. At Widowmaker's reply, Tracer's countenance brightened significantly and her posture was one of of complete disarmament. Widowmaker's cock twitched at the sight, but she remained her composure.

"Ah, sorry t' hear that luv, I'd be 'appy to help you out. Where you trying to get to?"

The bubbling Englishwoman approached Widowmaker rapidly, testing the assassin's resolve to its limits. She had to admit though; even though the attention that Widowmaker put onto Tracer (and moreover, her divinely-sculpted body) was entirely sexual in nature, it was oddly endearing to see the Brit so friendly. Disregarding that, however, Widowmaker continued on with her plan.

"Merci! I vas beginning to think zat nobody vould 'elp, merci!" She feigned surprise, choreographed like many social interactions she had undertaken in her extensive career with Talon. "You zee, I am trying to get to, oh, vhere vas it again...?"

Widowmaker continued the charade of being simply a lost traveler by fumbling around in her handbag for a tourist's map, procuring it for Tracer to see (who continued to approach) and she gesticulated towards one of the places she had picked at random on the flight inbound to London. As it turned out, the location of her deception was a pizzeria christened 'La Vittoria'. How quaint.

"Ah, oui, zis pizzeria 'ere. You zee, I vas to go zhere to meet my soeur, erm, pardon, my sister, zis evening." Widowmaker made sure to accentuate her syllables incorrectly to sell the lies, and despite her success at this, she could not help but notice how tangibly close to her that Tracer was now standing. Of course, it was the same distance one could expect of anyone attempting to read a travel map, but the simple acknowledgement of this fact only increased Widowmaker's desire for this woman. It was a maddening amount of lust for a singular person. Truthfully, Widowmaker would not be surprised if she was at risk for a heart attack in such conditions.

_"Mon Dieu, even that jumpsuit can't hide it."_ Widowmaker noted to herself, observing the outline of Tracer's derriere even through the yellow jumpsuit leggings she wore, taking the time to do so as she handed Tracer the map for her to look at. Truly a sublime sight.

"'Vittoria', innit? Blimey, that's a ways off."  
In truth, Widowmaker was only half-listening. Despite her better judgment (and typical restraint), she found herself ogling rather profusely at the other woman's legs, more akin to a schoolboy in puberty than a world-renowned assassin. Indeed, childish she was as she noted the sensuous way that Tracer's hips swelled outward and accentuated her hourglass figure. 

"Em? Ah, oui, zat is ze problème. I do not know vhere zis is. Erm, I mean to zay, I do not know vhere I am now."

  
She simply had to stall for time. If Tracer became more and more comfortable with the situation, which she would if Widowmaker let her think she was in control of, then she would be more pliable. That, and no amount of time would be enough to fully appreciate the contours of this monumentally gorgeous woman.

"Weeell, this 'ere is King's Row, so unfortunately you're a tad off luv." Tracer said this with a rather adorably apologetic smile, though she continued. "Not to worry though, straight through that there street," she pointed behind Widowmaker back towards the hotel that she had, unbeknownst to her prey, been standing upon not only moments before, "is right where you need to 'ead to for the right track. Then there's just a hop and a skip and you'll be right at 'ome with your, erm, sis, was it?"  
  
"Oui, oui, ma soeur. But, and excusez-moi a zecond time, but could I zay zomething quite embaraszing?" Widowmaker needed to make a move soon, to spare both her sanity and the building pressure in her pants. Mainly, she needed to get Tracer off her schedule enough that she would be on the back foot, so to speak. This required her choice of words to be even more delicate.

"Well, yeah, I 'spose." Tracer said, amicably.

The trap was set.

"You zee, zis night is very late and I am, how you zay, alonely, tonight. It is zo late zat I 'ave even felt a bit unzafe, you zee." Widowmaker began her bait slowly, before hastily adding "Not to inszult you or your zity, of course, I mean no offensze."

"No, no, no 'fense taken luv, I get ya." Tracer replied, moving from a face of confusion to one of understanding. Widowmaker could scarcely contain herself, though the beating heart within her cold frame required such a sacrifice for the moment. She feigned a change in expression of her own, adopting one of "pleasant surprise."

"Oh, truly? Merci, merci, pleasze take me zhere! You are too kind!" Widowmaker was sure to butter up the young hero as much as possible, not just as a measure of security but also in the interests of keeping Tracer as free of suspicion as possible. And to her pleasure, it appeared to be working, as Tracer enthusiastically took to the lead of Widowmaker down the street she had previously specified.

"No problem luv, I know it can be scary out 'ere sometimes. Nothin' to be ashamed of, if you ask me." Tracer was obviously more than willing to provide conversation, it seems, and Widowmaker followed her as she lead the way to her fake destination.

"Oh, zhank you for being zo understanding! I do not mean to inszult, as I 'ave said, but zhe news ve 'ear in France about zis place is, vell, frankly, zomewhat scary, as you zaid."

Widowmaker was sure to appear as though she truly was in fear of this place, though in truth, the more bizarre notion was that a woman of Tracer's rather average height leading around someone as tall as "Madame Lacroix" was somewhat amusing to her, though obviously she kept this observation to herself.

"Is it true, vat zhey zay, about zhe Omnic monk?"

Tracer gave a small twitch, almost imperceptible, and Widowmaker reasoned she likely wouldn't have noticed if she had not been paying as close attention to Tracer (and her ass) as she had been. It would seem she had reached a nerve, something that made her heart rush once more. She had obviously recoiled at the notion of being reminded (albeit accidentally, according to Widowmaker's facade) of her failure all those months ago. It was both surreal and delightfully interesting on Widowmaker's part to see her reaction to an event both had been privy too.

"Well, I dunno what you 'eard over there, but unfortunately, the late Tekhartha _was_ killed. Bloody 'ell, it 'appened only a few blocks from here, I'd wager." Widowmaker noted that Tracer's anger was barely contained, though if she were to guess, she would assume it was an unintentional thing. Her current impression of Tracer struck her as a very emotional and spontaneous image, so this was not out of character in the slightest. She was, simply put, the most genuine Overwatch agent Widowmaker had encountered thus far. Simply fascinating.

For her part in the conversation, however, Widowmaker feigned a gasp of shock. "Oh! 'Ow terrible! Oh, but I am sorry vonce more, I did not mean to bring zhat 'orrible news back up." Hopefully that was sufficient in unnerving Tracer without giving away Widowmaker's position.

"Ah, don't feel bad, it's a decent concern, 'fortunately. Bloody city feels like it's gone to 'ell sometimes." Tracer said this with a noticeable grimace. "'Sides, nothing much to be done about Mondatta. The work of those bastards at Talon, that was."

Widowmaker had to strive very diligently to not allow a smile to surface on her face, though she doubted that Tracer would be looking over her shoulder to see it regardless. In retrospect, it spoke immensely of Tracer's character to to continue leading one that is essentially a stranger to their destination while talking of such somber things, yet she persisted. Widowmaker, for her part, retained her arousal through and through.

"Talon? Zat 'orrible terroriszt group? 'Ow dreadful!"

"Yeah, them. Rotten bunch, to say the least."

"But vhere is Overwatch? Do zhey not protect zis zity from zhose people?"

The sheer schadenfreude on display was almost too much for Widowmaker to bear. The roiling in her cock was so intense that she was half-expecting Tracer to discover her secret through mere pheromone exposure alone, though she appeared to be as oblivious as ever. Tracer gave a sigh at her comment, however.

"They should."

It was rather cryptic but Widowmaker found it somewhat puzzling, enough that it temporarily gave her pause. Did she mean to imply that they _don't_ protect London and the surrounding area? If so, that would make Tracer's work all the more interesting. She certainly fought like an Overwatch agent, but the notion that she could be separated from them or at least operating without their authority (and thus, their knowledge) was a tantalizing morsel indeed.

"Vell, I am zorry that I 'ad to bring up zat zhing, I did not mean to upset you, mademoiselle, erm..." Widowmaker let her sentence trail off in feigned awkwardness, as she realized that they had not even exchanged names at that point, rather amusingly.

"Huh? Oh, right, bloody 'ell, where're my manners? I'm Lena, pleasure to meet you!" Tracer stopped and turned once she processed Widowmaker's comment and stuck out her hand to shake it. This was an unexpectedly sudden move and Widowmaker hesitated for a moment before reciprocating. The true name of this agent, Lena.

It was, in truth, a name that resounded within Widowmaker. Finally, she had a name for this obsession.

"Lena? Vhat a beautiful name! I am Amélie, zhe pleaszure is all mine!" That was perhaps the first of the things Widowmaker had uttered tonight that was not a deception. She truly meant the compliment and it seemed to resonate within Tracer as well, who looked thoroughly pleased with herself as she turned to lead the way once more.

"Right, then. Shouldn't be much longer 'til we get to the place, promise!"

They continued the rest of their walk in silence, aside from the soft crunch of their feet in the snow, Tracer's energetic footsteps mixing with Widowmaker's almost-silent ones. Widowmaker was self-conscious of these things, among many other visceral details, as her heart-rate stabilized somewhat. She took the opportunity to self-analyze with the lull in conversation to plan further. If she could talk more with Tracer, no, _Lena_ , at the pizzeria, that could be all the information she needed to make her next move.

The familiar streets of King's Row gave way to more conventional roads after a short while, though Widowmaker was only partially noticing such things, as she had the front-row-seat to the jostling ass of Tracer before her to occupy her attention. Perhaps such attention bordered on (or even surpassed) obsession, but at this point, Widowmaker had passed the point of no return. She was in it to win it, as they say.

Finally, they reached the place Widowmaker had described: La Vittoria, a quaint pizzeria that was rather fortuitously open even until the moonlight hours. Widowmaker almost felt as though the night's proceedings were _too_ perfect, but she would not look a gift horse in the mouth. She was also sure to capitalize on her advantage when she could.

"Oh, zhere it is! La Vittoria!" She made sure to butcher the pronunciation as much as she could of the title, earning a small giggle from Tracer. The sound had a surprisingly sobering effect on Widowmaker, as it was another innocent thing from a person that had tried to kill her only a few months ago, making the juxtaposition rather odd to process. Despite this, she continued.

  
"S'il vous plaît, allow me to buy you zomezhing for your troubles!"

Lena, being the humble hero she was, was quite quick to refuse, initially, but Widowmaker pressed the issue.

"Nah luv, that's quite alright-"  
"Non, I _inzist_! It is zhanks for 'umoring me, mademoiselle Lena. You are a true 'ero, oui."

Perhaps that was laying it on a little too thick, but Widowmaker's tumultuous lust for the shorter woman was overpowering her normal disposition. Victory was so close at hand, almost literally, and she could barely restrain herself.

Tracer acquiesced shortly enough, however.

"Well, alright then. Can't be too bad."

"Merci! You vill not regret zis."

And so began the process of Widowmaker purchasing a pizza for both herself and for Lena, at her leisure. It was a rather bizarre situation, considering their true identities, but Widowmaker thought it fitting for such an odd hunt in the first place. The irony was as delicious as the food.

There was a wave of insignificant pleasantries between them as they ate their respective slices at one of booths beneath the growing moonlight and light snowfall, though the warmth of the pizzeria was felt even by Widowmaker. It was... relaxing, surprisingly. She knew her ulterior objective, of course. The woman in front of her was seemingly made for sex appeal, yet she could not escape the idea that this encounter had been _fun_ as well. Perhaps she should "encounter" Tracer more often. She allowed herself a small smile at the thought.

The conversation picked back up once the two had largely finished their meal. Widowmaker had deliberately taken a much longer time to allow Tracer to finish first (for now) so that she would start up the conversation again, and this proved to be successful as she began to speak.

"Y'know, Amélie, you look familiar. 'A've we met somewhere before?"

Widowmaker had anticipated this, thankfully. One of the many contingencies she had prepared just in case. She feigned an embarrassed laugh.

"Oh, you flatter me, mademoiselle Lena! In France, I 'ave many times been zought to be somevon else." She leaned closer to Tracer over her pizza slice. "Apparently, I, how you say, reszemble Chloé Hollings. Oh, it is quite funny, oui?"

While Tracer was mulling over this, Widowmaker continued. "Ah, but, non, I do not zhink we have met. I vould remember somevon as brave or daszhing as you, I am very sure."

Tracer was, of course, a bit embarrassed at the comment. She broke eye contact to stare at her plate. Widowmaker took the initiative yet again, as the action had become rather intoxicating.

"Oh, pardon, I did not mean to offend you vonce more. Somevon as beautiful as you must 'ave a boyfriend, yes?"

She had to admit, teasing Tracer _was_ rather enjoyable. Her prey was none the wiser, of course, despite her response.

"Aw hell, that's real kind of you to say, Amélie, but no, no boyfriend."

Widowmaker faked a surprised gasp. "Tu parles! But you are magnifique, mademoiselle Lena! How can zis be?" She paused for a moment before giving a mocking conspiratorial wink.

"Oh, I zee. Girlfriend? Cherchez le femme?" Widowmaker's guess was validated by a brief look of relief by Lena.

_"Mon Dieu, she is just too much."_

"That easy to tell?" Tracer gave a bemused grin.

Widowmaker nodded vigorously. "It is not zo unuszual, you know. Love is, how you say, universzal? Oui, zat is zhe word. You are happy vith her, yes?"

It was Tracer's turn to nod, looking quite pleased with herself. Proud that she could claim such an achievement, Widowmaker bemused.

"Yeah, quite. She's great. Emily's her name."

Widowmaker felt a prickle, or rather, a nauseating wave of jealousy overtake her. But it was an irrational byproduct of letting the wrong head make decisions, so she maintained her cool for the time being. Timing was everything. She returned to her fake smile.

"Emily? Vhat a fitting name for a beautiful person, I am sure."

Tracer was clay and Widowmaker was the potter. If she had known it would be this easy, she would've worn something more scandalous. But, all the same, nothing good came from finishing too early. Metaphorically speaking. Widowmaker's target merely continued smiling, eating up every word. On some level, Widowmaker wondered if what she was doing could be considered the equivalent to plucking low-hanging fruit, but such notions were neither here nor there when matters of the flesh (particularly, the flesh of such a wonderfully-shaped ass) were concerned.

"Thanks luv, I really appreciate it. She's been good to me. Actually out today to get 'er a Christmas gift, if you can believe it."

_"Yes, I can believe that quite easily."_ Widowmaker though to herself. It was good to be validated, though.

"Oh? Zat is vonderful! I vish you the best of luck zhen. You 'ave somezhing in mind for her?" Widowmaker was genuinely shocked how open this woman was. It was as though she had no concept of mistrust about her. How unfortunate.

"Yeah, actually. There's this one scarf down by the Meridian I've been meanin' to have a look at, but they were closed by the bloody time I got 'round there."

"Zat is poor luck mademoiselle. I am sure zhey vould be open tomorrow, yes?"

"They better be, I've a purchase to make."

Widowmaker chuckled, and this time it was genuine. Lena's fire was endearing, somehow.

There was a resulting lull in conversation again as the two women realized how truly late the night had gotten to, and finally, Tracer stood from her chair and stretched for a moment. Widowmaker had the composure (but only just enough) to not react outwardly to this glorious sight, though her erection, which had largely remained dormant during their conversation, rose again with a vengeance. She willed it with all her fiber to stay put long enough to remain incognito.

Widowmaker stood as well, taking care to position herself such that the bulging outline of her third leg was not visible at a glance from Tracer, though she noted it was getting increasingly difficult to do so. She needed to get out of here fast if she was to take care of that problem, though it would come in time.

"Well that was a nice night, Amélie, thanks." Tracer said as she observed the French woman, apparently completely oblivious to the history between them.

"Non, zhe pleasure is mine, mademoiselle Lena. Merci!" Widowmaker replied, a smile of genuine appreciation on her face.

To make matters worse for her current predickament, Tracer had maneuvered around the table for a hug and Widowmaker had to frantically reposition herself and awkwardly accepted the embrace, though to her continued spree of good luck, she did not think Tracer had noticed.

"Your sis never showed up, did she?" Tracer asked, concerned.

"Non, it appears zhe did not. I zhall 'ave to complain to her about zhis."

They shared a laugh, an honest and heartfelt one (or at least, Widowmaker tried to make hers sound genuine; sometimes it was hard to tell the difference to her hearing), and the two said their goodbyes as they left the pizzeria. Tracer left down the path she had taken to reach the pizzeria while Widowmaker remained standing outside the restaurant for a moment while contemplating what to do. She genuinely wanted to trail Tracer back to wherever she returned to, but at the moment, the more pressing concern of her erection occupied most of her mental bandwidth, as puerile as it was.

Thus, Widowmaker returned to the Alderworth Hotel and promptly made her way to the loo to rid herself of this riling snake within her loins.

Once safely in the private confines of the stall of the women's room, Widowmaker went to work easing the strain against her lower half. The outline of her rod was successfully extricated from her tight-form pants with some effort on her part, though this was more or less ignored in favor of applying her hands quickly over her length. It was so thick such that even if she had used both hands, she would _have needed_ both in order to fully encapsulate the girth of it, but in her experience, she much preferred a much less ambidextrous approach. One hand cupped her balls and the other went to work stroking her cock, eager to ease the pressure that had built up within it.

It was a surprisingly easy affair, in hindsight. All Widowmaker had to do was imagine what it would be like to take Tracer over a bed, assaulting that glorious ass from behind and thoroughly breaking her in. The mental images had been plaguing her ever since Tracer had taken the lead in the "quest" to locate the pizzeria. Seeing that posterior in action had been quite the fap-fodder for the hermaphroditic assassin, indeed. And now that she knew a name and could attach a voice to her fetish, everything came together in more ways than one.

"Lena! Merde!" She exhaled her orgasm in as quiet a voice as she could muster, working her cock in long motions to prolong the intense overload of nerves as she endured the euphoria for even a few fleeting moments.

In the clearheaded fashion of post-orgasmic clarity, Widowmaker contemplated exactly why she was investing so much attention into what was, on the surface, just another booty call, though admittedly, a booty call with an _extremely dangerous person_ should the circumstances go awry. She did not truly possess an answer, but as she cleaned herself and her softening cock off, she quickly decided that she no longer cared if there was a rational, logical reason for this newest obsession. With the erotic fantasy of Tracer begging for her large futa cock still fresh in her mind, Widowmaker re-dressed and made her way to the receptionist of the hotel, asking for a room for the night.

Come the following morning, she had plenty of work to do.


	2. Réveillé (ft. Sombra)

Chapter II – Réveillé

-Alderworth Hotel-

The French assassin found that sleep would not come to her. The reasons were this were singular, albeit inescapable and annoying: her mind was dominated by thoughts of Lena.

Widowmaker could understand this conundrum: normally, she was among the most stoic of individuals, particularly in the ranks of Talon. Such a predictable temperament was practically required for the position she held, that of the deadly assassin she was.

Was she going soft? Metaphorically speaking?

It was possible, she supposed, though very confusing.

 _“Non, it is merely a fling.”_ She tried to assuage her concerns, though deep down, she did not believe them.

There was something special about that British woman.

Regardless, she was not unaccustomed to operating on low levels of sleep, however much it annoyed her. Widowmaker was quick to get out of bed, stretching luxuriously in the process. She walked to the dresser to check that her phone was still charging before heading to the water closet to take a shower.

For the moment at least, her cock seemed satiated. It hung from the junction between her legs, twitching with the occasional itch when her thoughts lingered on Lena for too long. Widowmaker was glad at least that she didn’t appear to suffer from morning wood like men did, as she was sure it was a rather irritating condition to deal with.

The warm water of the shower felt glorious on her skin compared to the relative cold of the hotel room, allowing her to relax at least for a short while as she planned her strategy to bed Tracer, pondering over the subject as she lathered shampoo into her long hair.

Widowmaker allowed herself a brief lapse of anger at having succumbed to the desires of her rampant cock rather than pursuing Tracer back to her dwelling, though in her defense, the lust she experienced was otherworldly in origin, clearly.

At the thought, the offending slab of fuckmeat threatened to rear up once more, though Widowmaker tried her best to suppress this urge. For now.

Right now, she needed to be level-headed and formulate a plan.

With what information she knew, Tracer would be out again at King’s Row to return to the shopping alley with the interests of finding a certain scarf. That narrowed Widowmaker’s search to clothing and/or accessorial stores in the vicinity. Just the same, it would not do to _not_ intercept Lena during her search to glean more intel. Perhaps even more of the identity of this “Emily” that she was apparently so smitten with.

The jealousy Widowmaker felt yesterday returned with a vengeance, to her continued frustration. She was getting attached to this woman _much too quickly_ , even by her own standards. Unfortunately for Emily, Widowmaker was not accustomed to sharing on others’ terms.

Regardless, the mission was clear: Widowmaker had to get to the store that Lena was going to visit before Lena got there to try and make her appearance seem at least partially natural. The difficulty was obvious: she had no idea which store it actually was.

This would require a great deal of luck, and perhaps even trial and error, though with her running spree so far, Widowmaker was fairly confident in her chances. At any rate, it was far too late to back out now. Not just for the sake of her cock, but also for the sake of her pride as a huntress.

That, and she wished dearly to hear Tracer’s voice again. The accent was a strongly persuasive argument in favor of Widowmaker’s continued compulsion, she found.

Though, during this time, her rod had reached a state of obstructive firmness once more and she resolve to deal with this quickly so she could think clearly. The process of coaxing an orgasm from the beastly thing was swift, again, Widowmaker could scarcely believe how much of her typical endurance was simply evaporating with the image of Tracer as the object of her obsession. It was as though the Overwatch agent was _made_ for sex.

Finally, she rode out her climax and shakily exited the shower, drying off with several of the towels from the racks adjacent the shower. It was likely still cold outside due to the snow from the previous night, even if it had subsided for the moment. It would not do to get hypothermia or something similar when she was to be on the prowl.

Widowmaker went about re-applying her makeup such that she could hide the blue hue of her skin once more, as it would be rather stupid to give away her true nature just yet. Though, as she considered this, there was a potential flaw in the plan: she could not paint _her entire body_ to resemble a more natural tone, so if she was to get in bed with Tracer, she could not hold back the information of her identity. It was a problem that Widowmaker did not have an immediate answer for, though she wracked her brain for a solution as she was too close to the goal to fail now.

She yearned to return to teasing the British woman indeed. It was almost as fun as the idea of bending her over, truth be told, though Widowmaker anticipated both were in short order if she was successful. All the more reason to not fuck this up.

-The streets of King’s Row-

It took the lithe assassin only a half-hour to reach the same junction of alleyways and storefronts that she had walked only yesterday, though obviously in the light of the morning, the area looked somewhat different, enough that she had to pause for a moment to regain her bearings.

 _“Think. Where would she shop for a scarf?”_ Widowmaker though to herself, a hint of annoyance betraying her mood, as she scanned the various shops for something that looked promising.

The pair of unknowing enemies had stayed out considerably late into the night yesterday, and if Lena’s nature was as carefree and ephemeral as Widowmaker assumed it was, Tracer would likely have chosen to sleep in. That did not mean Widowmaker had unlimited time to peruse a potential vendor to wait for her prey, of course; she knew all too well how quickly the hours could go by if she was not paying attention.

It was not something she normally considered, but she had to put her mind in the shoes of her curvaceous target. If _she_ were Lena, what kind of scarves would she want to get for a lover?

Lena liked bright colors; that was true enough. Widowmaker doubted that Overwatch was as forceful of her décor as Talon was (honestly, Widowmaker didn’t care much for the slatternly outfit she normally was subjected to wearing, mainly because it did not accommodate her cock in its fitting)

Widowmaker also knew precious little of Emily herself or what her own proclivities were like, though if pressed, she could reasonably assume that this woman was of relatively similar beauty to Tracer herself. She doubted as well that Tracer would be the type to settle, however much the humble hero might say otherwise.

A brightly-colored scarf, something that doesn’t clash with Tracer’s own sense of aesthetics, for a beautiful woman? Widowmaker snorted. It sounded like the beginning to a bad soap opera, albeit one that she found herself engaging in willingly. Tracer’s body was worth it. And, though she would refrain from admitting as much, Widowmaker _did_ want to hear her voice again.

Her best bet would be a mall or other centralized location, so at least then if her guess (that being of which store Tracer could possibly pick) was incorrect, she could quickly readjust to save the mission.

Widowmaker sighed a sigh of discontent and marched into the shopping center.

-some time later-

The mall, as it turned out, was a surprisingly roomy affair. Several floors of just about any and every item to purchase littered the building, and even this early in the morning, when even the sun had only just recently awoken, Widowmaker noticed there were still pedestrians afoot. It would make spotting Tracer, if she entered, all the more difficult.

Widowmaker resolved to haunt an ophthalmologist’s clinic at the base of the mall, seeing as how the front door was the most likely point of entry for her English acquaintance. As she entered, her gaze hidden by a gaudy pair of sunglasses that were truly befitting of a “tourist that is clearly foreign”, Widowmaker noted the rather stark absence of security cameras and indeed, the office had not a soul other than a rather bored-looking secretary.

_“Magnifique.”_

Widowmaker approached the secretary, attempted to adopt her most flawless impression of a lost tourist once again. As expected, this had the intended effect.

“Morning miss, how can I help you?” The secretary spoke, though it sounded as though she was several coffee cups away from standard operating capacity.

“Salut, and pardon, but may I usze your, how you zay, your lavatory?” Widowmaker laid the accent on thick again. It seemed many were vulnerable to this technique.

The secretary nodded. It was a slow, rehearsed maneuver. Widowmaker could sympathize.

“Right over there,” she gestured lazily over her shoulder in the vague direction to her left. “Past the first door.”

Widowmaker feigned confusion and forced a fitting expression on her face.

“Em? Er, pardon, but I do not zee zis door you speak of.”

Her heartbeat increased dramatically as the secretary moved to stand from her sitting position at the desk, evidently annoyed at having to deal with some French tourist so early in the morning. Little did this woman suspect, however, that she was playing directly into Widowmaker’s hands.

“Look down the hallway. First door on the right is- wha-?!”

It was a rather fluid motion, if Widowmaker could praise her own performance. She moved instantly in time with the secretary’s actions, wrapping one arm around the woman’s neck a while her opposite hand muffled her mouth, catching her in a choke hold. Quickly she brought the secretary to the floor, attempting very forcefully to silence any protests on her part. The secretary struggled for a short while, naturally, before succumbing to unconsciousness.

“Shhh, go to sleep.”

Her blood pounding, Widowmaker knew she had only a short window to move the body if she were to remain undetected. Glancing over the top of the desk to note if the coast was clear outside the clinic office (it was, for the moment), the assassin dragged the torpid body of the woman a short distance to the aforementioned water closet, taking care to do so as quickly as she could.

Once within the room, Widowmaker made sure to gag and bind the woman to the stall using her clothing, as well as removing any electronics on her person. Widowmaker intended to stay in the clinic for a small while, at least, and she could not abide a distraction such as a panicking woman.

Satisfied with the secure nature of her deed, Widowmaker return to the office proper and deposited the cellphone of the secretary into one of the rubbish cans near the front desk, then she resumed her vigil of the front of the mall from behind a magazine she procured from the stash near a lounge chair.

While she was ordinarily a very patient huntress, even Widowmaker had to admit that the anticipation was painfully intense. It was not a foolproof plan to wait here for Tracer’s arrival, no, but it was unfortunately the best she could muster at the moment.

For now, all she could do was wait.

-Approximately an hour later-

Widowmaker was incredibly bored by the time she encountered another difficulty: it appeared that the secretary had woken up and was protesting, though she doubted that anyone outside of the clinic room could hear the sound. Regardless, it was in the best interests of caution to not linger here. Widowmaker thus vacated the room and tried in vain to locate another venue that could suit her need of being able to see the front door of the mall, though nothing proved to be very fruitful.

Though her fortunes were truly ordained, it seemed, as no sooner had Widowmaker almost given up her search at the mall and gone to the food court to acquire an early lunch did she spy the objective of her search. Indeed, Tracer herself was rummaging through a group of people that apparently recognized her from Overwatch recruitment posters, indicating to them that she “unfortunately ‘ad things to do”, or some such other excuse.

Widowmaker felt her heart-rate rise again upon this discovery, pressing forward as she followed Tracer through the throng of mall-goers, noting how quick Lena was to dart between stores as she evidently looked for the scarf of her affections.

 _“It_ is _rather adorable.”_ Widowmaker conceded, to her thoughts. Tracer was dedicated to this Emily, it was true. She intended to push and see how far Tracer could go, however. The thought of this brought the lust careening back into her mind and her loins.

The short-term goal was to get Tracer’s attention again in a manner that would not arouse suspicion. After all it would be _highly coincidental_ if “Missus Amélie” were to just suddenly appear in the exact same store at the exact same time as Tracer. That would be quite odd indeed.

Widowmaker noticed how Tracer actually bothered to enter a particular Belgian-themed storefront sporting a few mannequins wearing scarves of their own. That would be an ideal location, she mused, if she could move fast enough.

And move quickly she did, propelled by a sense of predation and raw, undisguised desire for the brunette in the jumpsuit and jacket.

Widowmaker was sure to enter the store after Tracer did so as to be able to slip in unnoticed. From there, she concocted a plan almost immediately: she would cause a scene that Tracer was sure to notice and, to her natural surprise, it would be none other than “Missus Amélie” that was the source of the commotion. From then, they would shop together for the scarf meant for Emily, and Widowmaker could learn more of her goddess of a target in the process, perhaps even try and sway her loyalties to Emily, if she could manage it.

She had no doubt that Tracer was a firm believer in such naïve concepts as fidelity and trust, but she knew also that Tracer was quite malleable when it came to her more animalistic, emotional tendencies. That, and Widowmaker knew of her own position as one of a regular femme fatale. Many men (and more women) had fallen prey to her wiles and she was sure that Tracer would be swayed as well.

Sombra had an expression of philosophy for the world, Widowmaker recalled. Something to the effect of “Everything can be hacked. And everyone.”

While Widowmaker found the statement, of course, ridiculously simplistic and a childish view of the world, she noted some truth in it: bar the few of truly steadfast wills, _everyone_ had some form of price. And Widowmaker’s offer was not something that was not lucrative: sex with the hottest agent Talon had in their employ was not a proposition taken lightly. Such a belief was not made from a position of hauteur, either; Widowmaker was pragmatic enough to recognize just how attractive she was to others, making sure as well to exploit this fact whenever she could.

Thus, the plan was set into motion. Widowmaker assumed her role of a klutzy tourist the same way she adopted the persona of a stage dancer during her ballet performances. “Missus Amélie”, to enter stage right, it seemed.

She began by rather conspicuously approaching the most frail-looking of the patrons present; the target in question was an old woman, most likely late-60’s. An excellent target for an “accident”.

Widowmaker “carelessly” collided with the woman, knocking her to the floor and managing to dislodge one of the mannequins near the adjacent aisle in the process. The resulting cacophony of sudden sounds in an otherwise-demure environment was exactly what Widowmaker had hoped for. And she took to play her part immediately.

“Wot the bloody ‘ell-?!”

“Quelle horreur! Oh no, no, no, madame! I am zo zorry, are you alright?”

Widowmaker feigned her utter shock as she observed the woman currently struggling to stand. Admittedly, she hadn’t anticipated the women to swear, but if it added to the authenticity of the “stage” on display, she could scarcely complain.

“I am zo zorry, madame! I vas being zo careless and I did not zee you!”

She moved to help the older woman up, perhaps somewhat rougher than she had intended, but she was eager to conclude this charade and get Tracer’s attention. To her credit, however, the older woman appeared somewhat understanding.

“’Ell, it’s alright dearie, it happens t’ all of us.”

Widowmaker put on a relieved smile. “Please forgive me, madame, I did not mean to get in zhe vay of your shopping! I apologisze!”

The distraction proved effective, as no sooner had the incident been resolved did Widowmaker find Lena, staring incredulously at her from the next aisle over. The time to act was now.

“Amélie?”

“Lena? Vhat are you doing ‘ere?”

The two excitedly approached each other, and Tracer was none the wiser as to the planning required on Widowmaker’s part to ensure this meeting happened.

“Well I’ve been shopping for that scarf. The one I mentioned yesterday, but what are the odds I’d run into you again!”

 _“Ordinarily? Not very high.”_ Widowmaker though to herself, though outwardly she bore a confident smile, same as always.

“I ‘ope I did not get in zhe vay, Lena. I vas just looking for a new coat, myself.”

“Oh, not really.” Widowmaker knew that was a lie, but she did not challenge it, “Anyways, I was right off to grab a quick lunch. Wanna come with?”

“Eh? Vell, of course. I vas a bit hungry just now, oui.”

It was a surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one. Widowmaker followed Lena through more small crowds of passersby until they had reached a food court. The place was populated by various food vendors, as one might expect, but the sheer volume of them all was a touch overwhelming to the Frenchwoman, who, in truth, was not used to visiting such places when they were still packed with people, preferring instead the isolated silence of her château winery.

Still, Tracer was good at playing host.

They stopped once Tracer signaled that they had arrived at their destination: apparently, the place Lena had chosen was a French-themed café. Widowmaker assumed, rather amused, that this was Lena’s way of repaying the pizzeria from the day prior.

“Don’t worry luv, this one’s on me!” Tracer said, with a smile and a spring in her step, before she bounded off to the counter to order.

While Widowmaker thought the entire exchange was indeed a bit endearing, she was wondering at how exactly Tracer planned to order meals for both of the women without any of Widowmaker’s own input. Not that Widowmaker minded this too much, since she was not nearly as hung up over food as, say, some Australian criminals that she could name, but instead, she was content to simply watch Tracer from afar, operating with the usual amount of youthful jubilance that befitted her character.

Minutes later, Tracer returned with two plates, one bearing an omelette and a breakfast crepe, and the other several croissants and a light salad. Somehow, balanced atop the plates, were the drinks that accompanied them, though to Widowmaker’s continued amusement, it appeared that Tracer had simply purchased some American brand soda instead of mineral water, as was the more usual choice.

“Blimey, that’s not right.” Tracer frowned, apparently having realized her mistake, sheepishly smiling as she looked over at Widowmaker’s smirking face. “Well, um, I ‘aven’t been to France in a while, so maybe, they’ve, erm…” She trailed off awkwardly, leaving Widowmaker to laugh.

It was an honest, unrestrained laugh. Widowmaker thought that felt good to do.

“Non, non, do not worry, Lena. Zis is a bit cute. I zee vhat you vere trying to do, and I appreciate zhis.”

Apparently satisfied, Tracer sat down and the two began their meal.

It had been going along perfectly well, without incident, until Widowmaker had realized that Tracer had procured straws as well for the drinks, and she made the mistake of observing Tracer as she sucked on her soda. It was, obviously, an innocent and even absent-minded motion, but Widowmaker, as hair-trigger as she was when it came to Lena’s more suggestive mannerisms, could not help but find herself aroused by the notion.

This was not part of the plan. Widowmaker fought diligently to retain her self-control but her imagination continued to fill in the blanks of Tracer’s actions with the most egregious of things, and the struggle eventually was lost. She managed to avoid swearing and showing her discomfort, with the way that the seat of her pants had suddenly become uncomfortably tight, but only just barely.

It was enough to finish the meal, at least. In truth, Widowmaker did not know how long she could last if Tracer could turn her on simply by performing even natural interactions in her vicinity. Perhaps the Overwatch agent was already wise to her plan and this was simply a much more elegant solution to the problem: Widowmaker might truly die if she did not relieve this tension. A most ironic end, she noted.

But eventually, with the meal concluded, Widowmaker found the wherewithal to tell Tracer that she had needed to use the water closet, though to her horror, Tracer evidently also felt the call of the wild and accompanied her to the nearest set of stalls.

Widowmaker actually delayed entering the water closet until she knew which stall Tracer had picked so that she herself could pick the one furthest away from that, and once the coast was clear, she struggled to undo the buckle on her pants and procure her now-rampant hard-on.

Taking it in both hands this time, Widowmaker let out a muted moan as she stroked herself in quick, needy motions. The sensations of bliss were upon her immediately, with her mood already set, and lewd fantasies of Tracer already in her mind.

Back and forth, up and down, the same patterned motions as ever, but with the added urgency of the situation, Widowmaker found the tension to be something akin to painful. If she was discovered, no amount of explanation could save her.

Somewhere in the periphery, she could hear Tracer washing her hands and then blow-drying them. This was soon lost as Widowmaker found the pressure build to an unpleasantly tense level, her hands moving as fast as she could direct them.

“Hm? You close to finishing up, Amélie?”

The double-entendre, unintended, but still effective, did not improve Widowmaker’s stamina.

“A-almost!”

She prayed to whatever god that would listen that Lena did not investigate how strained her voice sounded.

“Right then. I’ll be outside.”

Widowmaker could not respond, as at that point she approached the edge of her limits and thus, the orgasmic rush of ecstasy hit her again. She came hard, and even though she had supplied herself with toilet paper for immediate use, she found it difficult to remove the evidence, as it were. With Lena’s face an afterimage in her mind, Widowmaker went through the familiar, albeit boring, process of cleaning herself up before attempting to step out of the stall and wash her hands.

However, Widowmaker swore under her breath as she realized that her communicator suddenly began to sound off.

“Eh? Amélie? Where’d you get off to?” Tracer’s voice rang out in the small alcove outside, having rinsed her hands and already vacated the WCs, though Widowmaker was forced to ignore that as her communicator unit continually resounded with a quiet, albeit audible, buzz. She grimaced; that was a call from Talon. Sombra, no less. That meant that it wasn’t something she could just say ‘no’ to.

 _“There better be a good fucking reason for this.”_ She thought angrily, tapping the interface to put Sombra on the line, holding the earpiece up to the side of her head in as inconspicuous a motion as she could muster, trying to wash her hands in the process.

“Ay, cabrona, how’s it going?”

Widowmaker’s mood instantly took a turn for the worse, mainly since Sombra’s voice had been startlingly loud and she had almost dropped the earpiece in surprise.

“You’re one to talk. Why are you bothering me on my vacation?”

Widowmaker could hear Sombra chuckle over the line. Something told her that she was going to hate whatever she was about to hear.

“What, I can’t talk to a friend every once and a while?” Her wit was as acerbic as usual, but Widowmaker _was not_ in the mood to be fucked with at the moment, given that this interruption was wasting what precious little time she had left to spare with Lena before she scarpered off.

“If you don’t have a point, fuck off. I’m busy.”

She could tell Sombra’s mood shifted, though to what degree was unclear.

“Oookaay, somebody shit on your baguette or something?”

“I do _not_ have time for this, Sombra.”

“Then you should make some. Moira’s been up my ass all day about a new job. Guess who got the short straw?”

Widowmaker sighed in frustration, sorely tempted to punch the nearest object. She knew, perhaps subconsciously, that her run of good luck was not infinite, but it was almost Aesopic at this juncture, to be delayed when she was so close to her goal.

“Merde. What is it this time?”

“Just what you do best amiga. One of Overwatch’s agents pissed off the boss a few weeks ago. Something about breaking up a deal we had with an Omnic businessman. I wasn’t really paying attention because Doomfist wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“Get to the point.”

“Jesucristo, I didn’t know dickgirls had periods too.”

_“Sombra!”_

“Just get this done and then you can get back to fapping or whatever you’re doing.”

Widowmaker acquiesced, knowing that even if she _could_ shoot down Sombra, there would be consequences later. Not that she couldn’t fight off most of Talon if she tried, but it was not a pleasant experience, nor one she cared to investigate further. If she was quick enough, she could resume her true mission, indeed.

“Fine. Who needs to die?”

She heard Sombra laugh derisively over the line.

“Oh, you’ve met her already. Few months ago, I think.”

Widowmaker gasped.

“That postergirl that Overwatch’s been parading around for a while? Tracer? Yeah, that’s the one.”

A swarm of disbelieving thoughts surged through Widowmaker’s mind. It simply was not possible. No entity, divine or otherwise, could come up with such a terrible coincidence. She could not respond, untrusting her tongue to stay silent so as to not give away what she had _actually_ been doing on her vacation.

Sombra, however, took this as either acceptance, or perhaps even boredom.

“Huh. Thought you liked short-haired girls. Anyways, take care of it and I’ll send your fee.”

“Sombra.”

Widowmaker’s voice was quiet, tranquil, unlike her interior, which was swirling with a cold fury. It was not a question, but a statement.

“Que onda?”

“I need a favor.”

Sombra was, uncharacteristically, silent. Widowmaker could imagine a curious grin sprouting on the hacker’s face, and when she responded in an almost giddy tone, she imagined that her impression was not far off.

“Well that’s a surprise. You getting cold feet?”

“Sombra, listen _very_ closely. I’m in London right now. I need you to bring my rifle from the vault near Annecy and meet me at Heathrow Airport. Once you’re here, I’ll tell you the rest.”

She paused, waiting for Sombra’s reaction. The Talon agent was silent for another moment.

“I take it you don’t want me to tell anybody about this?”

“Name your price.”

Widowmaker heard a chuckle over the line again. As much as she loathed the hacker, even she had to admit that Sombra _loved_ keeping secrets.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, princesa. You _do_ know what I did to Volskaya, right?”

Widowmaker recalled the mission to Russia. She’d been sent there along with Reaper and Sombra to kill a local industrialist reverse-engineering Omnic tech and stood in the way of Talon’s interests. The mission was deemed a complete failure as, with almost suspiciously bad luck, Volksaya had escaped completely unharmed and Talon was discovered in the process.

Widowmaker had long since suspected that Sombra had played a role in that aftermath in exchange for something from the young chairman, though what precisely it was remained unknown to her. Regardless, she had stumbled across Sombra’s involvement after running into the hacker masturbating to a conversation with the Russian woman in question.

“And _you_ remember that I covered your ass?”

Sombra giggled. Widowmaker realized she had accidentally made a double-entendre and winced at her own stupidity.

“You sure did. Not a bad idea to do that again sometime, actually.”

Widowmaker noted Sombra’s voice was rather husky all of a sudden, likely as a result of remembering the sordid “compromise” they had made those weeks ago when Widowmaker had been persuaded to keep her silence.

“You got a deal.”

Widowmaker accepted this wordlessly. She figured Sombra would agree based simply on curiosity, and though she would never admit it publically, Sombra was attractive enough for a quick fuck to tide her over until she got to Tracer.

“Don’t keep me waiting Sombra. Heathrow.”

“Si, si, I got you, don’t get your boxers in a bunch. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Widowmaker was about to hang up when Sombra chipped in one last quip.

“You better not fuck that British girl before I get to you. I don’t want sloppy seconds.”

The line went dead and with it ebbed Widowmaker’s anger, giving away to a more usual mild annoyance. She needed to act fast and accomplish as much as possible, which required that she re-find Tracer. She estimated that her conversation with her Talon contact had only taken a few minutes at most so in all likelihood, Tracer was either waiting for her somewhere or had simply resumed shopping.

Luckily, it appeared that the Overwatch agent had the patience of a saint and was seated on a bench outside, glancing up at Widowmaker and upon seeing her, broke into a smile.

“’Ey, there you are! I’ve been waiting for ya!”

Widowmaker hoped that her anger was not visible and she resumed her horrendously strong accent. One must keep up appearances, after all. She noticed that over her shoulder Tracer now sported a particularly luscious green scarf. Widowmaker assumed that her shopping hunt had indeed been successful, then.

“Oh, excusez-moi once more, I did not mean to keep you vaiting. It is juszt, vell…”

She struggled to think of an excuse but Tracer merely nodded.

“No need to spell it out luv, happens to the best of us. Food ‘round here just isn’t like it is over the pond, innit?”

She held back a laugh of relief as she nodded her assent to Tracer’s words, grateful that for once, she did not have to think of a reason. She accompanied the Overwatch agent back to their de-facto shopping route throughout the mall shortly thereafter.

Though she had originally aimed to inquire more about Emily (and possibly enough to sate her curiosity such that she could make a move on Tracer at long last), Widowmaker was distracted, both by the renewed presence of Tracer’s curvaceous backside but also the looming threat of Sombra’s arrival and the idea that Talon wanted this woman dead.

While Widowmaker did not have what would be called a conscience in the common sense, she did have a rather odd set of feelings when it came to Lena, now that she thought of it. Lust, obviously. Desire. Possessiveness. But something less tangible that was no less strong than the others. Something that told her that her new assignment was _not_ going to happen.

It wasn’t just a waste to kill Tracer, no, to Widowmaker, it was like snuffing out a flame at night. Tracer was beautiful, naturally, but the thought of her dead, impaled through her skull with a sniper rifle round was a sight that Widowmaker recoiled at. Her impulses as an assassin warred with her over this and distracted her long enough that the trip through the mall, as uneventful as it was, appeared to be over in an instant.

 _“Merde. Didn’t get to talk to her about Emily.”_ She mused to herself as she accompanied Tracer back to the entrance of the shopping center. It also appeared that the clinic she had occupied earlier was closed down as per an investigation into a mysterious person incapacitating the secretary.

It was enough to get Widowmaker’s adrenaline flowing again, realizing how careless she had been in not tying up loose ends. Unfortunately, there was no way to respond to this without giving away her involvement to Tracer and as such she simply prayed that not a soul payed her any attention as she followed the voluptuous Brit out of the building.

Though they had exchanged pleasantries throughout the whole affair, Widowmaker had yet to have a single serious conversation with Tracer during the entire time they had seen each other, and this notion bothered her.

Obviously, she would have preferred it if Tracer came to her bed (and her cock) willingly, and in the beginning she had even toyed with the notion that she could simply bring Tracer to reason herself, with force, if necessary. But after witnessing her in person for such an extended time, the thought was somewhat repulsive to Widowmaker, as though it was a transgression against an unspoken rule of some kind.

Since then, she had resolved to woo Tracer in a more traditional sense, though this too proved to be difficult since Tracer was not exactly a bachelorette, nor did she (or Emily) seem open to cuckqueaning. Her last remaining option was to simply entice Tracer to the more sensual (and clichéd) position of the adulteress, though again, this was not without challenge: Tracer seemed not the type to be prone to disloyalty.

It was such a headache that Widowmaker truly did not have an answer for how to proceed, especially considering how flustered Sombra’s call had made her.

“Something eatin’ you?” Tracer’s voice snapped her out of her reverie.

They had stopped walking (Widowmaker’s legs often moved on autopilot when she was deep in thought) and had come to a park near the mall’s entrance. Apparently her blank gaze had drawn attention to herself.

“Vell…”

Widowmaker faltered. It was obvious that she could not simply divulge everything on her mind, but Tracer was persistent enough to keep asking, this she was sure of. It was time to think quickly.

“You zee, vell, it may sound somevhat silly, but it is about yesterday.”

Tracer waited for her to elaborate and thankfully, without meaning to, gave Widowmaker a moment longer to catch her breath and choose her words carefully.

“About Talon, I mean. I ‘ave been zhinking about zhem. Do you zhink… zhat zhey might come back ‘ere?”

Apparently this had blindsided Tracer to such an extent that she had nothing to say at first, merely sighing and sitting at a nearby bench, motioning for Widowmaker to follow, which she did. They sat in silence for a moment, leaving Widowmaker to wonder if she had pushed the Overwatch agent too far. Undoubtedly, the Englishwoman was wondering how much she could say without giving her position in the conflict, oblivious to the presence of her enemy not even an arm’s reach away from her.

“I don’t think you need to worry ‘bout things like that, Amélie,” Tracer began. “Dangerous people like that might be scary and powerful, but even they’d think twice coming here again so soon.”

 _“If only it were true.”_ Widowmaker thought, annoyed. Lena continued, putting a hand on Widowmaker’s shoulder. The movement was a touch startling, literally, sparking a feeling of warmth that run through Widowmaker’s body. Unfortunately, her extremity had noticed this as well and the bloodflow began circulating downwards, further complicating the strenuous task of thinking clearly.

“Don’t be scared, alright? Talon’s not gonna- Blimey, you’re freezing!”

Widowmaker suddenly realized, in another lapse of carelessness, that Tracer could very likely feel the rather cold temperature of her skin, as was her condition from being molded by Talon into the perfect assassin. Further inspection would _not_ be a good thing for Widowmaker to remain incognito, and as such, she jumped a slight ways, perhaps overcompensating.

“Oh, non, do not vorry about me Lena, it is just a little cold out ‘ere, outside the building.” She lied effortlessly, though internally, she was sweating bullets and trying to maintain a believable posture with all her determination. Tracer, however, looked unconvinced and quickly started unzipping her jacket.

“’Ere, take this, luv. It’ll warm you right up.”

“Eh, Lena? You don’t need to-“

“No, no, just do it. I insist.”

She handed the jacket to Widowmaker, who begrudgingly accepted it. She was not accustomed to pity, least of all from someone that would ordinarily want her dead, but she could scarcely complain. Indeed, there _was_ something of a chill in the noon air about them, though the ease that Tracer apparently had in selflessness for others was somewhat embarrassing for Widowmaker to witness.

In truth, she did not want to ruin this deception as she had grown rather fond of it. Going back to being Tracer’s enemy was not something she wished for, at any rate. The sobering thought of Sombra’s impending arrival, however, reminded her that time was of the essence.

“Anyvays, Lena, about vhat I was talking about. About Talon.” She began, not entirely sure if it was the best course of action, but determination spurred her onward. Lena listened intently.

“I do not zhink zhey are as far avay as you zhink. You vill stay zafe if somezhing ‘appens around ‘ere, oui?”

Tracer nodded her assent, confused, but earnest.

“Of course Amélie, don’t worry ‘bout me. I can ‘andle myself.”

Widowmaker made a concerted effort to not chuckle. She had, after all, seen firsthand the validity of such a claim, and despite Tracer obviously using it as bravado to assuage the “fears” of her acquaintance, she had no doubt that Tracer believed what she was saying.

“Bon, merci. It vould be a tragedy if anyzhing vere to ‘appen to you, Lena.”

When Tracer gave her a bit of an odd look, Widowmaker feigned her best impression of an “honest, concerned friend”.

“I _mean it,_ you know. I ‘ave zeen zhe vey you shop for zis Emily of yours and ‘ow you have ‘elped me both today and yesterday. You are a good ‘ero, Lena.”

Tracer’s only response was an embarrassed smile. Widowmaker knew she had hit her mark.

“Aw rubbish, you’re just sayin’ that to make me feel better for getting you the wrong drink earlier.”

They shared a genuine laugh, something that warmed Widowmaker’s cold more than the heaviest jacket that Lena could ever find. It was something she did not remember ever experiencing, and inexplicably, the feeling of desire to take the British woman in her arms and embrace her increased tenfold. Only with the fullest extent of her self-control did Widowmaker restrain herself, knowing that the time for such things would come later.

“Zis Emily of yours is very lucky, I zhink.”

Widowmaker spoke earnestly, trying to not let her jealousy be revealed in her speech. Lena was as bashful as ever, naturally; unused to such consistent praise as she was, Widowmaker found it easy to exploit this weakness.

“She is beautiful, oui?”

Widowmaker could only guess, but Tracer nodded enthusiastically, though in reality she knew this was a pointless response. As her lover, Tracer would obviously say she was beautiful regardless of whether she actually was or not.

However, she _did_ manage to surprise Widowmaker: procuring a photo from her jacket pocket, Tracer produced it and revealed to Widowmaker the face of her apparent rival: within the picture, Tracer could be seen smiling next to an exuberant redheaded woman with wide, amber-colored eyes.

Widowmaker admitted this to herself: Tracer was not exaggerating.

“She means the world to me, yeah.” Tracer said, clearly proud of herself, before turning her gaze back to Widowmaker, “But don’t feel too bad, Amélie. I’m sure you’ll find somebody like that someday.”

Widowmaker paused. The words hit her rather unexpectedly hard.

“I hope so.” She hoped that Tracer could not detect her accent slipping back into normalcy, though it would again appear that luck was on Widowmaker’s side. This time.

Afterwards, the two simply remained on the bench, gazing into their surroundings. Widowmaker tried to calm the throbbing erection she was sporting for sharing such a close proximity to Tracer, while she was sure that Lena herself was thinking of nothing in particular, merely relaxing in the sun’s radiance on the cold noon day.

Widowmaker did not want to act in any way at all, fearful that it might shatter this tranquil scene, though she knew deep down that if she did not act soon enough, Sombra would dash her plans just by setting foot in the airport. She needed to convince Tracer to meet her again tonight and then somehow extricate her away from Talon’s watch and somewhere safe.

Widowmaker could reasonably guess that the second that the word got back to Talon (whether it was by Sombra or some other lackey) that she was experiencing difficulty in assassinating what would otherwise appear to be an easy target, there would be reinforcements and people asking questions. She would not abide by this. That and she suspected a growing sentimentality had arisen within her that demanded that she keep Tracer (and Emily, if she was feeling generous) out of danger, at least as far as she could reasonably interfere with.

A part of her mind rebelled against her emotions, the logical part of her that was still the top assassin in the world that worked for Talon without any qualms with murder. That part was insistent that Tracer was just another fuck and once the mission was over, it would be forgotten about as soon as Widowmaker found someone else. Yet this side annoyed her to such an extent that she quashed the thought as soon as it entered her mind.

Tracer was… different. Not just her ass, but something else unnamable about her. Widowmaker could not give it a name or description, merely a feeling. That was sufficient, for the moment, however. She had finally decided on a course of action that she could commit to.

 _“Damn Sombra for making me do this.”_ She thought, before she stood from the bench and removed Tracer’s jacket to give it back to her.

“Zhank you again, Lena, but I zhink it is time I am going.”

Tracer stood as well, nodding, stretching her limbs. This had the unintended effect of making her bust more prominent for a few moments, something that Widowmaker noticed quite acutely and tried to tune out as she worked on her verbiage.

“No problems luv, it was fun.”

Before Widowmaker could continue with her rehearsed words, the simple comment by Tracer struck her as forcefully as though she had been slapped. An innocuous thing to say, but to Widowmaker’s surprise, she found herself agreeing with it.

These things _had_ been fun. And Widowmaker was not used to using that word anymore.

She definitely needed to bed this woman.

“Oui, oui, I zhink zo as vell. I am returning to France tomorrow morning, you zee, and ‘ave to speak vith my sister before I leave,” She began her story, such as it was. “Zat vill take zhe afternoon, I believe, but I ‘ave a small request, if you do not mind.”

Tracer was surprised, naturally, as she was putting her jacket back on.

“Sure, what’s up?”

Widowmaker paused, taking a brief glance at Tracer’s face as she did so. Such a pretty face. Her dick throbbed beneath her.

“I ‘ave, ‘ow you say, greatly enjoyed our time togezher, and I vould like to buy you dinner tonight as zhanks, if it is not a bother.”

Tracer, true to her nature, merely smiled. Widowmaker’s heart leapt in her chest in relief. Perhaps her luck wasn’t terrible after all.

“Sure, sounds great. When’s a good- blimey, hang on a minute, you don’t ‘ave my number, do you?”

“Non, you are right. Vould you-“

“’Course luv. Lemme get my mobi right quick.”

Widowmaker realized she was correct. Luckily she kept her Talon comm unit and her private cellphone (which, admittedly, never received calls from anyone on account of her being the reclusive spider she was) separate and retrieved the item in question.

They swapped phone numbers and Widowmaker could not resist a brief surge of childish enthusiasm. The simplicity of such a thing that signaled a level of trust she was not accustomed to was rather enthralling, almost as if she was school again. Those times were long gone now, of course, but the memories persisted, albeit muddled irrevocably by Talon’s conditioning program. Perhaps they were fake along with her modern identity, but Widowmaker cherished the notion of innocence nonetheless.

“Right, there you go. Anytime this evening, just give me a buzz.”

Widowmaker nodded, though to her surprise Tracer moved to hug her in farewell. Unfortunately for her, she was not as quick as she had been the previous night and she feared that she had accidentally prodded Tracer with her hard-on. Rather embarrassed, she moved quickly to rectify the situation.

“Amélie, wha-?”

“Oh, désolé, I did not mean to ‘it you vith my knee. I apologisze.”

Tracer, to her credit, did not seem to suspect anything out of the ordinary and simply grinned.

“Aw, don’t worry ‘bout it. Catch you later, Amélie!”

“Au revoir, Lena.”

With that, the two parted ways and Widowmaker cursed her uncontrollable erection once more. Sometimes the damned thing was more trouble than it was worth, though with Tracer gone, she could make her way back to Heathrow to await Sombra’s arrival.

She grimaced at the thought of interacting with the devious hacker, but it was out of a cruel necessity. Widowmaker made her way back through the lightly-snowed streets of King’s Row, acutely aware that without Tracer’s jacket, the cold seemed a touch more biting than it had been yesterday.

-some time later-

Widowmaker arrived back at Heathrow with a noticeably dour disposition. It wasn’t that Sombra was unpleasing to look at, but rather, her attitude was quite unprofessional and she had a tendency to try and jump Widowmaker’s bones every chance she got.

Furthermore, it wasn’t even something that Widowmaker did not enjoy every once and a while, since obviously, the list of people lining up to suck her dick was not exactly a very long one once they discovered who she _really_ was.

The object of her annoyance was quick to practically waltz through the terminal with one of the most obvious expressions of “I am not a good person” that Widowmaker had ever laid eyes on.

“Hey, mijo. It’s been a while.”

Sombra’s entrance was marked by what Widowmaker had to assume was her idea of a joke. She had located the French assassin so quickly that she was forced to wonder if Sombra had indeed been spying on her the whole time, in which case, she grew even more annoyed than she had been previously.

 _“At least she isn’t wearing that stupid glow-in-the-dark facepaint again.”_ Widowmaker mused as she surveyed the Hispanic woman.

The hacker approached her with a noticeable sway in her hips before plopping down in a seat next to Widowmaker’s, being _very_ deliberate in how she wrapped an arm around the shoulder of her Talon comrade.

“What, not happy to see me amiga? I thought you would be, since I had to cancel a date with Volskaya just to meet you here.”

Widowmaker grimaced, knowing all too well that only half of the things that came from Sombra’s mouth were genuine, and even if it wasn’t, it was just meant to get under her skin.

“Let’s just get this over with. I have a job to do, Sombra.”

“So do I. And it really _blows_.” She whispered deviously into Widowmaker’s ear.

Though the Frenchwoman was incensed at how awful of a pun that was, it still incited within her a dull flame of lust. Nothing compared to the bonfire that was the thought of ravaging Tracer, of course, but it was not an insignificant thing. She knew Sombra too well to assume that she would be able to wait.

“You’re incorrigible.”

“And you’re wearing too much clothing amiga. How do you pack that python into those pants, hmm?” Sombra let her wandering hand accompany Widowmaker’s midsection, threatening to let it wander down to her crotch, where indeed the slumbering dragon had recently been roused from slumber. It seemed she had neither a sense of privacy nor of restraint, as they were not exactly in a private space. She continued in a sultry voice.

“But then again, you’re good at making things fit into tight spaces, aren’t you?”

“Not here, idiote. Follow me.” Widowmaker hissed, standing quickly to get away from Sombra’s ministrations before she too succumbed to sex in a public airport.

“Ohhh, so you _did_ miss me! Where’re we heading then, hmm?”

“I said, follow me.”

The plan, as Widowmaker had devised, was to settle the manner of Sombra’s “payment” at a nearby hotel room. Hopefully, and that was the operative word in play, Sombra would be satisfied enough that Widowmaker could soon focus on the real mission with the aid of her gear. Assuming Sombra was not simply holding her request as leverage, of course. The thought had crossed Widowmaker’s mind and she intended to hold nothing back on Sombra regardless.

Truth be told, she was rather backed up herself.

“Sombra. Did you bring what I requested?”

“Of course, amiga. One hot Mexican body, as ordered.”

Widowmaker sighed.

“I meant my rifle.”

“The one in your pants isn’t working for you right now?”

Widowmaker had to restrain herself from slapping the irritable bitch.

“You know damn well what I mean.”

Sombra was, as befitting of her, completely unfazed. If anything, she looked more smug than usual.

“Ayy, relax Widow, I got you covered. And hopefully soon I’ll get you uncovered, because that outfit covers up your best bits.”

“Shut up. And don’t call me that.”

They managed to reach the nearest hotel building without incident and procured a room for the day. If the receptionist has suspected anything odd about the pair of some of the most dangerous women in the world, she did not voice her concerns.

As they ascended the elevator, Sombra continued to cling to her comrade, occasionally squeezing her supple ass and whispered into Widowmaker’s ear, her voice husky and intense.

“I’m gonna drain you dry, carino. Just watch.”

Widowmaker tolerated this as she conceded that Sombra’s body _was_ warm and comfortable, at least for the moment. They made their way down the stretching hallway and found the room they were looking for.

They didn’t make even make it to the bed, though.

As soon as the door to the room had closed, Sombra assaulted Widowmaker with her lips, fervent and hot with need. Exceedingly warm on her cold skin, Widowmaker fought to regain control, and with a brief struggle, she succeeded in asserting herself over the shorter woman.

Widowmaker was _not_ in the mood to be gentle or delayed and this carried over extremely well with her handling of Sombra. She was quick to use one hand to harass Sombra’s breasts while the other eased her body clumsily onto the bed. Sombra herself moaned under these ministrations and continued to fight for control of the situation.

 _“Merde, it’s been too long.”_ She thought to herself, appreciating the way that Sombra attempted to free herself (half-heartedly) from her grasp. She may have acted outwardly defiant, but both Talon women knew that at her core, Sombra was a carnal, hedonist creature.

While Widowmaker had both taken many into her bed over her extensive career, and Tracer herself was situated assuredly at the top of her list, Widowmaker could not deny the charm of the Hispanic hacker that was writhing beneath her. Her eyes dilated with hunger, the sensuous licking of her lips, and an expectant stare that encouraged Widowmaker to be as rough as she pleased. Sombra was truly insatiable this way.

“Damn, thirsty perra today, aren’t ya?” Sombra teased her, a flirtatious grin on her face.

“Shut up.” Widowmaker barked. She was too pissed to deal with her shit right now.

Deciding to skip foreplay (as Widowmaker had not the patience to deal with that right now, with her cock straining to be free of her pants), she aggressively frenched Sombra, keeping her head in place with one hand and using the other to attempt to remove Sombra’s shirt. The attempt took several tries before she was able to extricate it from Sombra’s chest, which she threw haphazardly over her shoulder.

Next was Sombra’s bra, snapping off from the back as Widowmaker continued to ravage her mouth with her tongue. All the weeks of sexual frustration that she had experienced granted her the drive she needed to force her Talon compatriot into submission, though it was not without a fight; Sombra herself was not nearly passive enough to let go without resistance. This, combined with Widowmaker’s already disquieted mood and the amount of resentment she had for Sombra at the moment for fucking up her “vacation” had incensed the French assassin enough that she felt absolutely no remorse with her actions.

She pinned Sombra to the bed, leaning onto her shoulder and placing her hand over Sombra’s own, moving it to the seat of her own pants.

“You know what to do. Take my cock out.”

While Talon had no formal ranking structure outside of Doomfist’s leadership, it was mostly understood within the ranks that each affiliated member was more or less independent, acting with each other out of a mutual cooperation, not a strictly official administration of orders. Yet Widowmaker spoke with command befitting of her impatience, as she had often done many times whenever Sombra had become so lustful as to approach her to slake her cock-thirst. She knew Sombra didn’t care much to be bossed around, yet when it was in Widowmaker’s bed, she left room for only one authority: her own.

Sombra complied, perhaps out of a genuine acquiescence with Widowmaker’s request, or perhaps just out of sheer desire. With her, Widowmaker could never tell what she was thinking.

The bulge in Widowmaker’s pants belying the sheer size of her dick had grown exponentially in response to the harsh treatment she was dealing out to Sombra’s body, as all the while, she had continued to use her free arm to roughly knead Sombra’s breasts. For her credit, the Talon agent had not yet conceded defeat as she struggled (with only one hand) to remove Widowmaker’s sizable cock from its current cloth prison.

The operation had grown too annoying for Widowmaker to continue dealing with it, as her cock surged with a lustful fire about it and demanded freedom, such that she moved her hands from Sombra’s bust to assist in the endeavor of releasing the beast. With a heave and a shove, the dick finally emerged into the waiting and willing grasp of the hacker beneath her, pulsating with need and throbbing in her grip.

Widowmaker winced. Sombra’s hands were cold and this was taking entirely too long. Despite this, she was sure to catch Sombra’s face as she watched her partner act.

Though Sombra had sampled Widowmaker’s sexual proficiencies numerous times now, Widowmaker noted that every single time the Hispanic woman had procured her cock from its enclosure, there was always a satisfying look of awe on her face as she did so, and in more recent times, it had often mixed with the expression of supreme lust that had also become quite common in Widowmaker’s interactions with her.

Though, to be fair, Sombra had her work cut out for her: at an impressive length of 46 centimeters (18 inches, for those operating in freedom units) and a girth thicker than Sombra’s own wrist, it was, naturally, an intimidating prospect to go about taming that monster. Damned if she didn’t try her best every time though. Sombra had an affinity for draining Widowmaker’s balls in a most reliable fashion, if she felt like it.

At full mast, the erection was hot and heavy, able to just barely reach the tip of Sombra’s breasts if it was placed on her stomach, a fact that Widowmaker had often taken advantage of when Sombra had offered a titfuck on occasion.

“Heh, you look a bit bigger than last time. Been feeding it blondes or something?”

 _“I said: shut the fuck up, Sombra.”_ While she meant to keep that to herself, Widowmaker found herself barking the words in person, though Sombra merely laughed at her derision.

She did not dignify the situation with further reply, merely moving her hand to Sombra’s shoulder and did her best to encourage the other woman to move forward and continue worshipping her dick.

Out of necessity, Sombra moved both hands to fully encapsulate Widowmaker’s cock and began the slow, torturous process of stroking it. Her fingers moved in hypnotizing, rhythmic patterns as she serviced her comrade, intent on teasing Widowmaker into frustrated action, as was often the case when she became too impatient.

She had often marveled at the rigid tower of cockmeat on display for her to observe and caress with her embrace, as it eclipsed any of Widowmaker’s other alluring qualities by an order of magnitude, in Sombra’s humble (and biased) opinion. It was, quite simply, out of this world. Perhaps one of the seven new wonders of the world, if she was to be presumptuous.

The massive, pulsating rod threatened to overwhelm her grip as she worked it just in sheer volume alone; sliding her hand from the tip of the glans all the way down to the base where Widowmaker’s fruit-sized balls lay nestled in loosened pants took a matter of seconds to accomplish, something that was unheard of even in Sombra’s rather lascivious personal life. She had fucked _a lot_ of people in her life; some literally, some metaphorically, and some that had impressive bodies, complete with some of the most hung men she could find.

Yet Widowmaker devalued them without the slightest of difficulty, all the while viewing Sombra with utmost contempt just for being annoying enough to ask for the chance to marvel at that miraculous penis. Sombra admitted it: her fetish was an all-encompassing worship of the divine cock in front of her, jutting out from Widowmaker’s groin like a tower made of flesh.

Widowmaker, for her part, as she was wont to do, grew more frustrated at Sombra’s lack of swiftness and took matters into her own hands (literally) as she half-pushed, half-pulled Sombra’s head to the surface of her cock.

“You wanted my cock, didn’t you? And now that you have it you won’t even suck it? Get to work, putain.”

Fortunately for the two of them, Sombra was _very much_ aroused by the aggression in Widowmaker’s voice. Like a gadfly, Sombra found it amusing (and exhilarating) to get a rise out of people, and when that rise was the physical rigidity of a raging hard-on, she was all the more pleased.

Sombra began to lightly lick the length of luscious cock in front of her, dragging her tongue along the pulsing veins with a teasing lust that only incensed Widowmaker more. She was doing this on purpose, of course, mainly just because servicing Widowmaker’s cock with her mouth wasn’t enough to get her off; what truly gave Sombra the quivering, mind-shattering climax that she wanted was when Widowmaker was so annoyed with her that she let out her rage in a most lewd manner.

Predictably, Widowmaker took further action, placing one hand on the back of Sombra’s head, gripping her hair where possible, and the other stabilizing the movements of her cock by grabbing it by the base.

“Open wide. I won’t be gentle.”

Before Sombra could protest, Widowmaker practically rammed her cock into the newly-opened cavity, a sudden intrusion that drove roughly half of its prodigious length into the warm confines of the hacker’s mouth. Widowmaker was intimiately familiar with the cold of the air, given her rather unique body chemistry, and yet even though, again, she was not alien to the many textures of Sombra’s body, the sheer heat that she engulfed her cock into continued to amaze her.

“Glrggkh! Hglurgh!” Sombra attempted to speak, despite the massive obstacle currently occupying her wet facehole, but Widowmaker utterly ignored her, focusing instead of shoving as much of her cock inwards as possible. A noticeable bulge of the rock-hard slab appeared within the confines of Sombra’s neck and upper sternum as the large futa dick made its way past her throat and into her esophagus.

“Less talking, more swallowing.”

Widowmaker’s only vocalization was curt and to the point, as befitting of her mood. Sombra’s throat, deliriously tight and self-lubricating as it was, proved to be a consistent method of masturbating herself, Widowmaker found out. She contented herself to moving Sombra’s head via the grip on her hair in order to move the intense tightness to various lengths on her dick, eventually finding a pattern that satisfied her. She found the point in which her mushroom-head reached roughly where she estimated the tightness of Sombra’s pharynx to be was of particularly satisfying sensations.

The occasional ‘schlorp’ and ‘glurgh’ of Sombra’s throat getting used to accommodating Widowmaker’s considerable size once again seemed to signal that any further communication on Sombra’s part was to be reduced, at least in the short term, to a series of lewd grunts, not that Widowmaker was particularly bothered by this fact.

And as she looked downward to savor the expression of pure struggle as Sombra was challenged in accepting even half of Widowmaker’s delicious dong down her gullet, she noticed that Sombra wasn’t particularly bothered either, judging by the way that she frantically dove one hand into the bridge of her own pants to finger her sopping slit, even meandering her free hand to reach Widowmaker’s balls, fondling their smooth, hairless surfaces with the closest thing Sombra felt to sentimentality, at least from Widowmaker’s perspective.

She had to admit: it did indeed appear that Sombra wanted to get Widowmaker off, even if Sombra derived the most amount of pleasure during their “off-sessions” from getting railed in the ass. A curious development, but not one that Widowmaker concerned herself with as she focused on jerking her cock through the warm hole that was Sombra’s face.

“Tilt your head back, I need a better angle.”

Widowmaker sought to quickly finish this encounter, as in the back of her mind she still had an objective to complete, despite the admittedly very tantalizing tightness of the throat in front of her. Truthfully, such a euphoric environment was making it difficult to remain focused, but all the same, she had a job to do and this was not part of it.

She noted, as she forced Sombra’s head still (ignoring the glazed expression she wore as a result of feverishly working her quim down below), that this position was also quite comfortable for her task of relieving all of this built-up frustration. The Romans had called it irrumatio, or some such other term; to treat the wanton slattern’s mouth like a pussy, or something to that effect.

Regardless, Widowmaker did not have many objections to rocketing her penis through Sombra’s mouth fervently in an attempt to bring out the orgasm that was building within her roiling testicles. Sombra, for her part, assisted in this endeavor by increasing the speed and forcefulness of her own ministrations on the cum factories that hung from beneath Widowmaker’s powerful shaft, swaying in tune with the slippery, lewd emanations of Sombra’s mouth.

 _“Mon Dieu, this might be the fastest I’ve been yet.”_ Widowmaker though to herself as she felt the impending cumshot only approaching faster. In truth, she was rather resilient to seduction and Sombra frequently had trouble breaking her stamina in any quick manner (which she doubted was _entirely_ her own chemistry’s fault, as Sombra was something of a slut on the issue), but as of late, and most especially right now, Widowmaker found herself ready to erupt in what would ordinarily be considered ‘short notice’, for her.

“Ngh, get ready, connasse. Swallow it _all!_ ”

Widowmaker only lost her composure for a moment as the rush of orgasmic bliss ruptured through her body. It was, as per usual, an intense feeling that blasted her mind temporarily into the stratosphere of emotional descriptions, ranging from momentary mania and lust to thoughts of Tracer. Widowmaker briefly considered, after recovering from this natural high, that the subconscious thought of Lena stretched out on her cock in a similar manner to Sombra just now was what sent her over the edge. She would have to test that theory later.

 _“La petit mort.”_ Widowmaker thought to herself, briefly, before returning her attention to Sombra’s rapidly breathing frame.

Beneath her, Sombra went to work attempting (and failing) to swallow Widowmaker’s tumultuous load of semen, though in her defense, Widowmaker had fully hilted herself within the confines of Sombra’s capabilities and thus, the process of retaining even more object density within her windpipe was somewhat difficult.

Once Widowmaker was satisfied, she withdrew her now-thoroughly-saturated rod from Sombra’s outstretched maw, leaving the Hispanic woman to gasp and sputter for air in an erratic manner.

“Gah! _Dios Mio!_ F-fuck!” Sombra continued to bluster and choke on both her own form of speech and Widowmaker’s flowing cum, some of which dribbled out of her mouth and onto her shirt. Widowmaker herself went through the process of wiping her cock off on Sombra’s shoulder (mainly because she didn’t want to use her own clothes for that purpose, as she knew from personal experience that getting semen stains out of them was annoying as all hell) before collapsing onto the bed in exhaustion.

Though she would not admit it, the vigorous fashion with which she conquered Sombra’s mouth _was_ somewhat taxing on her endurance, despite the well-deserved benefits. Sombra herself was still sputtering, coughing a rough bit as she regained her breath. Widowmaker, in the continued wisdom of post-nut clarity, wondered for a brief moment just how she was to seduce Tracer if she was this susceptible to thinking with the wrong head, though this meditation was interrupted by Sombra tugging at Widowmaker’s coat sleeves, an expression of undisguised lust still present on her face.

“Don’t tell me you’re not ready for round two, princesa.”

Widowmaker scowled. She had no time for this, but she was forced to admit as she looked down that her cock was still as threatening and rigidly hard as ever, evidently not slaked of its own thirst for Sombra’s body.

“I told you, you’ll get more once you hold up your end of the deal.”

Widowmaker was still annoyed that Sombra was trying to assert her position in her own way of negotiating, though when the hacker positioned herself on top of Widowmaker’s body, her supple ass grinding against the throbbing pillar of hermaphroditic meat, she conceded that she too was not yet satisfied.

“Fine. But pay attention. I’m going to lay out the plan while you’re busy.”

Sombra smiled and kissed Widowmaker in one fluid motion before wriggling her ass out of her pants. Stabilizing herself by placing her hands adjacent on Widowmaker’s shoulders, Sombra began bucking and gyrating her hips as she settled into position to take the assassin’s cock up her ass, followed by slamming her derrière down with as much force as she could muster. Despite the precarious position (and the noticeable struggle of actually fitting the damn thing), Sombra kept a flirtatious smirk about her as she rode the Frenchwoman, keeping sure to remain close enough for her to hear her whispered moans.

“Whatever you say, jefa. I’m not going anywhere for a while.”

Widowmaker sighed. She had a long afternoon ahead of her.

But after this momentary distraction was complete, the true hunt would begin again.


	3. Ever Get That Feeling of Déjà Vu? (ft. Tracer & Sombra)

Chapter III – Ever Get That Feeling of Déjà Vu?

-at Alderworth Hotel, once again-

Ordinarily, Widowmaker was a reasonably level-headed woman with a propensity for thorough decision-making and planning. When she had a goal, she did not deviate from her course and was always the victor if she had control over the situation.

What she did not have control over, evidently, was the sheer immensity of Sombra’s libido, something that had continued to vex her as the Spanish hacker continued to bob her head longingly across the bulbous head of Widowmaker’s massive cock.

At this point, she had already emptied the vast contents of her backed-up balls into many of the holes presented before her and she was starting to become more impatient, as despite Sombra’s body being easily several steps above the average, Widowmaker was not a multitasker and her mind constantly drifted back towards that of Tracer, the objective that still loomed in danger of being overtaken by Talon agents.

Though, to be fair, Talon was under the impression that she herself would be the one to carry out the deed, and they could not be further from the truth. Widowmaker had decided, in between cumming into Sombra’s rather sumptuous ass, that she would disregard Talon’s orders when necessary, as she had admitted herself a new weakness: the British pilot had caught her interest so severely that she could not bear the thought of being deprived of this woman, even if it were the ones that payed for her lifestyle that were commanding this consequence.

Perhaps it was a traditional case of biting the hand that fed oneself, but Widowmaker was committed to this hidden betrayal. It wasn’t personal, no; Widowmaker had few complaints of Talon or their methods, as after all, she was built for the purpose of killing. There were no bad tactics, merely bad targets.

But something rising within her (that was not her erection) had built up so significantly that she could not ignore it: Tracer fascinated her. Her various inane mannerisms, the cadence with which she moved, the infectious enthusiasm for life itself that she exhibited, and of course, the ass that was divinely crafted to be hilted into. All aspects of the Overwatch agent were of equal interest to Widowmaker and she would not allow anyone to stand in her way in pursuing this goal.

Which brought her, with a disinterested glare, to the Hispanic woman lovingly sucking her cock.

“Are you even listening?”

When in a mood of unadulterated lust, Widowmaker had found Sombra was quick to lose herself in the act and would be dead to the world, so to speak; it appeared that Widowmaker shared with her comrade an ineptitude at multitasking, and for Sombra, there was no greater high than worshipping the most stunning phallic object she had yet discovered. And Widowmaker was rather confident that it would remain as such, at least, within the constraints of still being called human. The blood required to sustain an erection was already somewhat of a strain on her endurance, she had to admit.

(Privately, Widowmaker wondered if it were even possible to wield an appendage this prodigious without the enhancements she had received from Talon, though she was uninterested in finding an organic rival with which to test this theory)

Sombra, however, was indeed completely focused on coaxing what was likely the fourth orgasm from Widowmaker in several prolonged hours. Widowmaker was not usually of the mind to complain, of course, since it _did_ take the edge off when she could abuse the hacker’s throat for her own purposes and she would be remiss if she did not admit that Sombra had a certain alluring charm of her own, but she simply did not have time for this. Her plan was delayed as much as it is.

She pried Sombra’s sucking gullet from the tip of her slab of fuckmeat and held her partner’s head up with a hand on her chin. Widowmaker hoped that this effort was enough to rouse Sombra from the carnal haze she had been immersed in.

“Reaaally? You’re not gonna let me finish you off?”

Her reply was whining, as though she had not been on autopilot this whole time, though Widowmaker knew better.

“Fine. But be quick about it.”

Sombra simply grinned and began the laborious process of throating Widowmaker’s cock without the literal helping hand she was usually given. If she had not already been somewhat annoyed at the constant interruption (with the caveat that the hacker’s mouth _was_ tight enough to be very stimulating), Widowmaker would have been impressed at the sheer ability of Sombra to suppress her own gag reflex.

Or because she just got off on being facefucked, who knows?

The splurching and gurgling of Sombra’s efforts were something akin to music to Widowmaker, at least assisting her in taking the edge off of her own tense circumstances. Though, she mused to herself, it would probably be easier to talk to Sombra about the plan she was to enact if she just finished already. That way, nothing could distract the salacious hacker more than usual.

Feeling the clenching of Sombra’s throat against her flesh, Widowmaker found herself rapidly agreeing to this course of action and decided to speed it along. Pressing her grip against the back of Sombra’s head, she forced the hacker further down onto her cock, driving it closer and closer to the base.

“That’s it, putain. Just a little faster.”

Widowmaker moved her head up and down the length of her dick, pleasuring herself with Sombra’s maw, until she felt the familiar pressure return with a vengeance within her testicles, begging to be released. The desire to paint Sombra’s esophagus white was now something at the forefront of her mind, temporarily overriding her conviction to find Tracer.

“Ungh!”

The delirious tightness was too much, and soon enough, the metaphorical valves burst and Widowmaker felt the surge of pleasure and of semen rush through her balls and cock. The writhing waves of cum flooded Sombra’s outstretched mouth, thoroughly dousing her throat in mere moments.

Propelled by the throes of her own ecstasy, Widowmaker pushed Sombra’s head further downwards, forcing her lips to touch the base of her cock, holding her there as the deepthroating further elevated Widowmaker’s already considerable pleasure.

With just under a half-meter of very thick cock snugly secured in the confines of her throat, Sombra was doing her best to breathe through her nose and to guzzle the entirety of the virile cumload that Widowmaker had to offer, though, in her defense, she would sooner have an easier time of drinking down a riverbed by herself.

Widowmaker did not relent in her desire to keep Sombra’s hole completely plugged, however, despite the intermittent sputtering and coughing that resounded from her bedfellow, though after short time that felt more like an eternity due to the intense pleasure, she eventually relinquished her hold and Sombra’s head rapidly moved away from the glans of her cock in a protracted, fluid, slurping motion.

With Sombra’s hacking and resuming breathing, her chest heaving and her face splattered with various fluids, she gave Widowmaker another insatiable grin.

Amusingly, Widowmaker noted that Sombra had even moved a hand to fondle her testicles in the aftermath of the orgasm, as though even still Sombra was yet to be satisfied. Despite this, she knew that she had spent too much time delaying already. There was no further room for distraction.

“Now listen, Sombra,” She batted the hand away from her balls, as if scolding a child, “I need to know where Tracer is before Talon knows that I’ve gotten there. Can you do that?”

Sombra looked bored.

“That’s it? C’mon, I thought you’d give me something hard to do.”

Her glance flicked down to the softening cock between Widowmaker’s legs.

“Can you do it or not?”

“Princesa I can suck your dick and do that at the same time. C’mon, I’m not an amateur.”

Widowmaker was rather nonplussed, though not doubting Sombra’s skills.

“Send it to me over the communicator once you’ve found it out. I need to move out, now.”

She stood, attempting to redress and using a handtowel from the washroom to dry her thoroughly-saturated cock off before trying to re-fit it into her clothes, though Sombra was curiously quiet.

“You’ll still come to visit once you’ve defected, right?”

It was an odd question, one that surprised Widowmaker enough to turn around, looking back at Sombra over part of her shoulder.

“What?” Widowmaker had no idea what she was on about.

“You _are_ defecting, right? Why else would you need my help?”

Widowmaker had assumed that Sombra at least had an inkling of what was really going on, though she had not guessed that she would have been so brazen about putting it into words. Out in the open, the idea of betraying Talon now suddenly struck Widowmaker as a more dangerous approach than she had initially realized, though at this point things were too far gone to go back.

“Oui, I am leaving.”

“Because of that Brit’s pussy? Damn, she must a helluva lay if she’s got you going like that.”

Widowmaker’s anger surged back up again.

“Fine. What if I do come back, every once and a while?”

Sombra smiled again. It was a Cheshire cat’s smile, the look of a cat that had ensnared a canary.

“Well then I’ll put in a good word for you with the boss. Metaphorically speaking.”

Widowmaker narrowed her eyes. A deal with Sombra was a deal with Mephistopheles.

“You would do that?”

“You’ve seen your cock, right? I’d be reaaaaally bored without it.”

Widowmaker supposed that answered the question, though it was not exactly what she had been expecting. She procured the case that Sombra had brought with her containing her gear and rifle, moving quickly to the door of the hotel room as she did so, as she had seen over her shoulder that the sun had already begun to rapidly descend in the sky behind her.

She was about to leave when Sombra called out to her.

“Be sure to come back soon. That English cunt can’t satisfy you _all_ the time, right?’

It was an interesting proposition. Widowmaker was, admittedly, suffering from extreme tunnel-vision when it came to Tracer. There was no woman that captivated her like Tracer did, and she was sure that Sombra had grasped this.

“We’ll see.”

With that, she left Sombra in silence and continued down the hallway and to the elevator, refocusing her mind off of Talon and its threatening arrival and more on how she was going to persuade Tracer to leave safely.

Though, try as she might, the thought of Sombra and her offer stuck in her mind. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure _how_ she could come back if her defection was noticed by Talon, and it was most assuredly would be something that even Reaper could not miss.

Widowmaker did not rule out the possibility, however. Her cock twitched at the recollection of Sombra’s throat convulsing as she tried to swallow down another of her loads. That was not an image that she would be disinterested in seeing again, she had to admit.

Widowmaker took a breath of fresh air as she stepped out of the hotel and continued on her way.

-Approximately an hour later-

She had not the time to be late.

Widowmaker ran across the rooftops as fast as her legs could carry her, deploying her grappling hook when necessary, in order to reach Tracer’s flat before Talon could decipher that the betrayal had already begun, such as it was.

In truth, she did not trust Sombra to not simply inform Talon of the operation and even if she didn’t, Talon would likely discover the ploy regardless, so this left the most pragmatic option open to just assuming they would be arriving shortly. Even still, Widowmaker could reliably assume that Sombra’s information was accurate; she had no interest in lying to Widowmaker if she wanted to get pounded into oblivion again, obviously.

It was soon enough that Widowmaker reached the flat where she was told that Tracer and Emily were residing at, and not a moment too soon; the skin on the back of Widowmaker’s neck was prickling rather frustratingly, a typical sign to her that danger was close by and that she ought to be rather careful. Indeed, if Talon had been alerted (and that was a foregone conclusion), it would be only mere moments before they arrived, and they would not be in the mood to simply have a chat.

Time was of the essence and Widowmaker could not spare subtlety, as much as she might have liked to.

With the grace of a spider she used the grappling hook to repel down the side of one of the residential buildings adjacent Tracer’s flat, caring to move quickly, as within the darkness of this cold night she had no doubt that Talon intelligence was already surveying the area. If Sombra had known of this location, it was assured that the rest of Talon did as well.

Widowmaker supposed that the simplest approach was the most effective; Tracer could not very well expect a trap if Widowmaker literally walked onto her doorstep to tell her that her life was in danger.

Though, she reflected, that she _did_ feel guilty for not appearing as “Miss Amélie” once more in an attempt to resolve the situation with more diplomacy. After all, from Tracer’s perspective, it would appear as though she was simply stood up. The thought of this annoyed Widowmaker that all her concerns were boiled in an immense frustration, and this steeled her resolve.

It might very well ruin her plans of seducing the Englishwoman, but be that as it may, her life was in danger.

Widowmaker approached the door that she was informed was the one that led to Tracer’s suite and knocked with as much force as she could muster. The plan was to be as straight-forward as possible, as there was simply not time to bluff. It would be inconvenient, doubly so if Emily was the one that opened the door and Widowmaker had to deal with that, but it was a hand forced upon her.

She felt her heart skip a beat when she heard Tracer’s voice answer only a few moments later.

“’Ello? Who is it?”

“Open the door.”

The brusqueness was brought on unintentionally by the tension in Widowmaker’s veins, the adrenaline that was caused by Talon’s tendency to appear suddenly and without warning. If Tracer was suspicious, however, it was not something that overruled her curiosity, as Widowmaker heard acutely the sound of a lock on the other side of the door being undone.

 _“Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly.”_ She thought to herself before her very eyes, Tracer was standing in the doorway, dressed in very casual clothes that looked out of place on a war veteran.

“W-what? What the bloody-?!”

Widowmaker shushed her almost immediately, putting a hand as close to her lips as possible.

“I do not have time. Your life is in danger. Talon is hunting you and they are on their way right now.”

Widowmaker spoke quickly, without preamble, and to her frustration, Tracer continued to sputter in her confusion.

“What? What are you on about?”

“You. Are. In. Danger.” Widowmaker hissed, continuing in a harsh whisper. “Talon knows where you are and they are coming here right now. Take Emily and get out of here before they find you.”

Tracer’s face was scrunched up in disbelief. If the situation had been more pleasant

“B-but, _you’re_ with them, aren’t you? Isn’t that why you came here?”

Widowmaker frowned.

“Non, not anymore. I came here to warn you. Take Emily and leave.”

“B-but-“

_“There is no time, Tracer! Get out of here!”_

Widowmaker did not allow her time to retort, as no sooner as she had said this did she hear the unmistakable sound of trouble.

Turning over her shoulder and drawing her rifle in one fluid motion from its miniaturized compartment on her thigh, Widowmaker surveyed the stairs below them. All of her sixth sense was aflame, informing her that danger was approaching swiftly, though she could not flee, not here. Here, she will have to stand her ground and buy time.

“I will keep them busy. Go!” She shouted at Tracer, compelling her to move, and returned her gaze to the stairwell. The sounds of approaching footsteps were closer and closer, and then, rounding the corner, Widowmaker opened fire with the assault rifle configuration of her weapon, unleashing it onto the two Talon operatives she found on the stairs that she has suspected.

It was too quick for them to react, and incidentally, the weapon that their organization had constructed specifically for Widowmaker’s purposes was indeed effective, even when put to use against its creator’s wishes. They did not stand any realistic chance at survival, and fell, toppling down the stairs. While she had been sure to put in her earplugs, Widowmaker still found the roar of fully automatic fire to be rather deafening, and only a short time after, she could hear as well the confused and panicked shouts of various residents of the flat, likely awoken to the commotion.

Among them was a shrill Irish-accented voice from behind her.

“Oi, Lena, what in the fuck’s going on?”

Widowmaker assumed that to be Emily, though she had to time to see, no time to check if Tracer had believed her words or not, though she suspected the gunfire had propelled her into action faster than any words on Widowmaker’s part.

Talon’s response was as fast as could be expected; within mere moments, Widowmaker could hear reinforcements. She would simply have to outpace them.

Sprinting down the stairs and out of the building, Widowmaker reached the streets once more, spotting a small squad, roughly five in number, of more Talon troops approaching. It was doubtless that they _knew_ of her betrayal, but it was likely as well that they were not expecting Widowmaker’s actions to be as brazen as they were.

Firing intermittently at them with her rifle as she moved across the street, Widowmaker launched another grappling hook at a balcony overlooking the fire escape of an adjacent building and propelled herself upwards. Moved further forward by her momentum, she temporarily let go of the outstretched rope and steadied herself to make a shot from the sniper rifle configuration.

Holding her breath and squeezing the trigger, she rewarded herself once more for her impeccable accuracy by nailing one of the Talon operatives perfectly across the head, though his fellows were not without recourse and Widowmaker was quick to land nearest to the rooftop as she could manage.

Her momentum broken by a roll once she reached her destination, her hunter’s instincts were already flaring up within her, telling her to change position so that she could keep the squad below her on edge and uncertain of her true position. With another leap, she cleared the space between her current building and the next, rapidly relocating in the hopes that they would not be able to discern her trajectory.

This tactic proved successful as she crouched and lined up the next shot once she had relocated, and with a loud crack of her sniper rifle, she took down another member of the Talon assault force, before proceeding to move once again to a different rooftop.

Overhead, somewhere above all of the chaos, Widowmaker detected the distinctive sound of a Talon gunship flying close by, likely to deliver more meat to the grinder and possibly even display a show of suppressive fire against her if she gave it the chance.

Despite all of this, Widowmaker did admit that she felt something of a rush within her body; her blood vessels on fire, her heart rate extraordinarily fast; the natural high of battle was getting to her. And she very much enjoyed it.

It was not enough to distract her, or so she hoped, as she darted from roof to roof, occasionally stopping for a moment to return fire or eliminate another of the Talon squad members frantically scrambling below her to find a series of objects to hide behind, though nothing they found could obscure them from her wrath.

The gunship roared and even through her earplugs, Widowmaker’s teeth rattled at the sheer volume of sound that hit her. Indeed, she needn’t even look up before she could tell that it was already closing in fast.

 _“One shot is all I’ve got.”_ She thought to herself, acutely aware that if the gunship was permitted to fire upon her, not even she could be fast enough to escape it. But then again, if her track record was to be reviewed, _one shot was all she needed._

Temporarily disregarding the remainder of the troops on the ground (with only two in their ranks, she doubted that they could locate her in time to stop her next shot), Widowmaker turned her attention to the flying behemoth of metal that was rapidly approaching her through the sky, howling into the dark night of London like a banshee with its twin engines.

Widowmaker breathed in, and then out. She steadied her rifle, aiming roughly where she assumed that the pilot’s skull was beneath his helmet, behind the protective glass of the cockpit, and though she knew that under normal circumstances, small arms fire was ineffective against it, she knew this also: the rifle that had been crafted for her was perhaps the best of its kind ever created. So long as the user was accurate enough, the tool would fulfill its purpose perfectly.

 _“Breathe in, breathe out.”_ This mantra echoed in her mind as she slowed her heart rate and concentrated intensely. She could not be allowed to miss, as failure was no longer an option.

She pulled the trigger. The feeling of recoil, the intensity of the rifle’s miniature explosion as it carried out the wishes of its master, and the shattering sound of glass breaking, even from the distance that she was away from it and the sound itself being muffled by the roars of the engines; all of these things were in her focus during her state of hyper-attentiveness.

A brief splotch of red instantly painted the glass canopy, and the gunship immediately began to veer off-course. Widowmaker let out a long exhale, and the tension within her fingers lessened, if only for the moment.

 _“Magnifique.”_ She allowed herself the mental pat on the back, and then returned her attention to the squad on the ground. Even if she had downed the gunship and the troops within died in the belly of their own beast, there were still those left to take care of, and furthermore, additional reinforcements were likely not far behind.

Using her grappling hook as a propellant to catapult herself into the air once again, she executed a turn across one of the building’s sides to gain a position that would allow her to relocate the missing squad, as they had evaded her sight, though she could not seem to find them.

It was unlikely that they had fled, as Talon was, befitting of their organization’s characteristic devotion to results, not fond of letting cowardice or failure go unpunished. Instead, Widowmaker assumed that they had simply been hiding, waiting for her to-

It was a sudden, sharp, throbbing pain that exploded in her arm. A rippling epicenter that sent waves of similarly agonizing bundles of nerve cells screaming as she felt it, and with that, her grip on the grappling hook slipped almost immediately. Her mind completely occupied with the sudden torment that afflicted her, she was unable to react quickly enough to re-grab the rope, and started falling, fast and disorienting, as though she had suddenly experienced vertigo.

The sights before her were a blur as she fell, but she found it within herself to skid down the wall of the building, or at least, what she thought was a building, with her boots to stymy her fall, though ultimately, this effort proved to be of little use.

A second, though not nearly as piercing, pain wracked through her body as she collided with something very hard and dense, before rolling haphazardly to the ground.

Widowmaker’s vision was a mixture of red and black and white, oscillating between the three hues at a vibrant, nauseating frequency. All that she could process was that she was on the ground and that everything in her body hurt, but most of all, her arm was on fire.

Or, it felt like it was. The coppery smell of blood – likely her own – stained her nose as the tangible oozing sensation of it stained her own body. Faintly, dazed, she was able to look down and saw that her arm, the one that had previously gripped her grappling hook, now had an alarming amount of a bullethole in it, and this thought was so shocking that she quickly wanted to look anywhere except at this.

It was hard to remain conscious, let alone focused, amidst this pain and Widowmaker persevered as long as she could. The throbbing agony did not let up, continuing to pound against her mind as her body protested her actions. She moved to stand, weakly, but could not muster the strength to do so, and collapsed into the light snow covering the alleyway where she had fallen again.

Her vision began to fade, and the sounds that she heard around her seemed to stretch out, becoming oddly-sounding echoes that were either inaudible or unintelligible.

She felt a warmth, a presence that touched her body, and words that were being spoken, though she could not make them out. Despite her best efforts, she eventually passed out, giving into the unceasing blackness of her vision.

-some time later-

Widowmaker was vaguely aware of things moving around her, through her dazed attempts at regaining consciousness, though sights and sounds were blurry and distorted at best. It hurt her head to try and understand what was going on, so she simply gave up and simply _existed_ , for lack of better term.

There were bright flashes, followed by dark flashes, and sounds of voices, some higher-pitched, some lower-pitched, that resounded around her.

She collapsed into an unfeeling state again.

-some time later-

This time, when Widowmaker woke up, she was able to process more, though, she did not particularly want to. She was lying on her back in some sort of room.

No, that wasn’t quite right. It was some kind of space, but it was not a room. Perhaps a section of a vehicle?

Yes, that was more like it. She was in some kind of vehicle. A moving one, as she felt the vibrations and occasional bumps in the street beneath her.

Widowmaker’s mental faculties recovered, though strained as they were from the immense pain that she felt everywhere in her body, enough to suggest to herself that she was in an ambulance.

The thought was amusing, somehow. She pictured nurses crowding around her in a hospital bed, wondering firstly how it came to be that Widowmaker, the infamous assassin, was wounded by a mere footsoldier in her own organization, and secondly, the nurses trying to figure out why the hell her skin was blue was something that made her want to laugh, at least somewhat. In truth she reasoned that any movement on her part would be a _very_ bad and painful idea at the moment.

So she contented herself with listening and feeling. She felt a very strong presence engulfing her wound, which was most likely a bandage (she refused to open her eyes lest she see stars), and then heard the sounds of the road and the motion of the wheels of the vehicle before she heard more voices.

They were muffled and hard to decipher, as though they were submerged in water, but Widowmaker struggled to make them out as she had no other course of action to take in this moment. One of them was a shrill, high-pitched voice, speaking quickly and in high volumes. Probably female.

The other was a much lower one, which sounded just as excited as the other, though noticeably not speaking much at all, only the occasional comment, from what little Widowmaker could understand. Gender unknown.

She noticed that the sound of one of the voices was coming from a source very close to her, perhaps even directed at her, though she still did not open her eyes. The mitigation of pain was taking all of her mental capacity at the moment and further action was impossible.

All of the sudden she felt a _very_ sharp feeling of clarity surge through her, and she involuntarily opened her eyes.

What greeted her was a barrage of new sights all at once and she did nothing for a few moments, blinking rapidly and trying to process this new wealth of information.

The vehicle was brightly lit, with painted white walls that reflected light rather than absorbing them. Widowmaker herself was lying on a bed, of sorts, flanked by two people.

Yes, it very much seemed like an ambulance. And these would be…

The figure on her right was a tall one, donned with a white lab coat and wore a face mask that obscured most of her features save her eyes, piercing blue ones that looked down at Widowmaker. They were not friendly and this thought was somewhat abrasive to accept.

The figure on Widowmaker’s left, however, was a more surprising and welcoming sight: one Tracer AKA Lena, the Overwatch agent that was the cause of this kerfuffle in the first place.

“One shot of epinephrine, three of morphine. Saline, plasma, and a blood transfusion. Maybe adenosine as well.”

The voice that spoke was the lower of the two tones from earlier, coming from the woman on the right. Widowmaker noted she spoke with authority and was likely either a nurse of civilian profession or someone that Tracer had brought.

The mere notion that she was alive was likely due to the notion that Tracer had brought her here, a fact that did not escape Widowmaker’s notice.

“She’ll be alright then, Angie? Won’t she?”

Tracer’s voice, from her left. It was concerned. Why? Widowmaker was an enemy, wasn’t she?

“Zat is _Angela_ to you! And do not interrupt me.”

The other woman’s temper flared and with it so did a noticeably Germanic accent. Widowmaker could not place it, nor could she identify who this was. Admittedly, she did not do much research on other Overwatch personal and this was likely many of their officers. Tracer was apparently on a first-name basis with this woman so a civilian nurse was likely out of the question.

“Look, I know it’s bad, but- but don’t you have that Hippo Oath or whatever?”

The other woman appeared to ignore her, directing her attention to Widowmaker instead.

This was a somewhat off-putting move, as the other woman was clearly fucking pissed and Widowmaker did not want to have to deal with that.

“You are very lucky, Talon, that your friend is merciful.”

This was rather intimidating to Widowmaker, of course, and even if she had not been under the suppressive effects of morphine she likely could not have found the will to respond when she was so heavily concentrating on not passing out, though she noted that to her left, Tracer merely scoffed at this.

“Oh sorry luv, what’s your callsign again?”

The other woman turned, abruptly, to face her companion.

“Ve are going to have a _long_ talk about zis later. Now be quiet, I’m trying to save her life.”

The other woman shooed Tracer away with a wave of her hand and pulled on a pair of gloves from a compartment out of Widowmaker’s vision. She procured a needle and injected into the injured arm, and slowly, Widowmaker’s sight and hearing began to swim before her again, before she eventually returned to the darkness.

-some time later-

Time was an ethereal notion that Widowmaker knew not the existence of as she woke up, suddenly, in a room that was neither her own nor Sombra’s; a location that was completely alien to her, and as she moved to sit up and was once again momentarily anguished by the wound in her arm, she lapsed back down into the bed with a wince and a pained hiss.

It stung heavily, and while certainly not the worst of her injuries (things of which Moira was oft reminding her of, since the cantankerous Irishwoman was the one charged with repairing the damage), it was annoying to deal with and a blemish on her pride. Widowmaker was not accustomed to having a physical reminder of a mistake in her operations, let alone one that would inhibit her movement such as this.

She couldn’t masturbate with only one arm!

Widowmaker wondered, with a brief sense of melancholy, where Tracer and the “good doctor” had gone off to. This was, after all, most likely a medbay in the local Overwatch headquarters, and Widowmaker was an infamous mass murderer. It was only natural that Tracer’s colleague would be confused at best and outraged at worst in knowing exactly how (and why) Widowmaker was to be _treated and bandaged_ instead of being put down. Hell, there were undoubtedly those remaining in the world (likely widows like Lacroix herself) that would try and kill her for free.

To that end, Widowmaker was curious herself as to why Tracer had brought her here, vouched for her safety and convinced the Swiss medical researcher to even see her. It was somewhat over the line for Tracer to do this, even if they had participated in a recent firefight on the same side. They were allies now, of course, against Talon’s operations, though surely that was not enough to flaunt what was likely a universal protocol of “Do not give medical aid to agents of a terrorist organization that we have been at war with” at Overwatch.

And Widowmaker would have thought it even more amusing, if she had not been injured so severely, that it was _Tracer_ of all people performing this action. The very same woman that had stood before her on the rooftops of King’s Row and recoiled at her very presence for the murder of Mondatta. She mused that whatever deity ruled this trivial existence, if one truly did exist, had a strong propensity for ironic humor.

Though, to her surprise, Widowmaker saw nor heard anything out of the faint breathing that she drew, her naturally-low heart-rate thumping at an otherwise regular rate of repetition. Perhaps it should have been alarming how unconcerned she was with her own safety, being in the lair of her enemies, but she felt oddly at peace with all of the most recent events.

At this thought, Widowmaker was surprised once again when Tracer herself entered the room, wearing only her common clothing and without a weapon, as though she was simply another normal civilian on a stroll through the streets. A stroll that happened to be located at an Overwatch headquarters with one of the most dangerous people in the world within its walls. Iff anything, the woman was unspeakably brave.

“Mornin’. Or, maybe it’s afternoon. I can’t tell. It’s underground, y’see.”

That was true enough, Widowmaker supposed. There were no windows in this room and it had been an indeterminable amount of time that had passed since she had last been conscious. She did not really know the best way to respond, however, since she was still unsure of the proper amount of discourse available to them, as formally, they were still enemies.

“Bonjour. Again.”

It was clumsy and lame, Widowmaker knew, but she could think of nothing else. Tracer did not appear to be bothered by this and simply pulled up a chair close to Widowmaker’s bed so that she could sit by it.

The _why_ of this action was an unknown value; from Widowmaker’s perspective, none of this made any sense.

Tracer licked her lips.

Widowmaker was suddenly aware, acutely so, of how close they were together. Tracer was leaning over her, able to smell the light scent of deodorant that wafted off of her. The object of her obsession was so close, so _tangible_ , and it was driving Widowmaker mad.

There was an intoxicating aura of lust about the pair of women, strong and permeable. Widowmaker’s instincts battled one another; on the one hand, she was an agent of Talon, a dreaded assassin, in the hands of Overwatch. There was a deep and driving desire to simply disregard this dangerous (albeit dashing) dame and escape, to knock her over and vault over the body on her route to freedom. A spider did not do well when trapped and backed into a corner, after all.

But on the other hand, there was a much stronger desire, one that was just as primal and uncontrollable when released: Widowmaker felt it in her bones; the undying urge to pound this Englishwoman into the ground, to bury herself to the hilt in her luscious body.

It was an engrossing though, surely.

A third, though noticeably smaller concern was this: Widowmaker _wanted_ Tracer for herself. It would not do, no, not at all, to simply make this another checkmark on her list of conquests. No, instead, Widowmaker wished quite possessively, for the first time in a _long_ time, to so thoroughly seduce Tracer such that the two would be inseparable.

It was rather amusing to think of, in an odd, ironic sense; both of the women were not without tethers. Tracer had Emily and probably dozens of others that would gladly take her to bed, even before they knew who she was and what feats she was capable of. And Widowmaker had hundreds of her own, possibly even more, standing alongside Sombra, though perhaps not as enthusiastically as the hacker was, indeed.

Widowmaker was reminded of Gerard, briefly, and the thought was surprising, almost sobering. Lust and the want to consume, the want to _fuck_ , was something she knew quite well and encountered quite regularly, as would be obvious. But this aspect of her whims, the urge to possess, was something she had not felt in such a long time that perhaps indeed, it was for Gerard that she had last experienced this sensation.

Truthfully, she did not remember him so much as she remembered events with him, as he was a small-spoken man of rather eccentric tastes. She had appreciated this as she found it resonated within her as well; she herself was a being of isolation, preferring to be alone in her element and enjoying the thrill of the hunt, even before Talon had reached her and given her a new purpose. Gerard facilitated this and asked few questions, aside from “When will you be home?” or “Where may I kiss you?”

She missed him, in some sense, she supposed. The conditioning that Talon had subjected her to, though effective in suppressing her concerns when she was on a mission and tracking down a victim to lead to the slaughter, did have drawbacks of its own: her memories were not as they once were. This was something that she had not thought to hold against Talon (Moira, mostly) as a transgression until recently, when she started to feel alive once more.

Perhaps the cruelest irony of all is that she could not remember whether or not she had owned the wondrously monstrous cock that she had now back in those days. It was a perplexing mystery, though she did not spare it much thought, as her attention was thoroughly focused on Tracer, who still leaned over her, gazing upon her countenance.

Indeed, the woman before her made Widowmaker once again feel _alive._ As though there existed a personification of a life’s purpose and it coalesced into a spirited British pilot-turned-agent working for the enemy.

And Widowmaker would not have it any other way. Aside from perhaps switching their roles so that Widowmaker could be on top, that is.

 _“Her eyes are beautiful.”_ Widowmaker though to herself, staring into the hazel orbs. If they were indeed windows overlooking the soul, then Tracer’s soul was just as breathtaking to gaze upon as the rest of her.

It was as though Widowmaker had encountered the first angel, in a sense. This woman before her was completely perfect, aside from the rather trivial notion that she was wearing too much clothing. Though, in a more carnal train of thought, Widowmaker reasoned that she would enjoy ripping them apart when getting down to it.

“You alright?”

Tracer’s voice shook her out of her thoughts, piercing them utterly. The Overwatch agent reached out a tentative hand, cautiously moving it to Widowmaker’s shoulder, apparently under the impression that she might have fallen asleep with her eyes open, or something similar.

There were many answers that came to mind for such a question, though Widowmaker chose the most honest one out of respect, as she knew that Tracer at least had played a crucial role in the reasoning behind Widowmaker not being shot immediately upon entering the Overwatch headquarters. On some level, she felt obligated to not disappoint her savior.

“Yes.”

It was a simple thing, delivered in one breath, though Tracer appeared satisfied. Her hand rested on the shoulder it was aiming for, a warm presence on an otherwise cold surface. Widowmaker’s lust was rampant, begging her to continue, to reciprocate, and to conquer this woman like she had conquered Sombra, or the countless others that had come her way.

Yet she remained still, tensely waiting for Tracer to make the first move, as she knew not whether this attraction was unrequited.

“Y’know,” Tracer began, lowering gaze to Widowmaker’s injured arm, to the bandage still surrounding the pierced flesh (and indeed, the veritable hole) that had recently been administered a serum of Dr. Ziegler’s own making, before returning her eyes back to Widowmaker’s own.

“That was really brave of you, doing what you did.”

The words did not have much weight to Widowmaker so much as the speaker behind them.

“I… what?” That said, Widowmaker was somewhat confused. In her line of work (indeed, in both of the women’s professions), firefights were rather par the course, and sometimes, in the case of Widowmaker just that day, she could occasionally lapse into carelessness and allow herself to be wounded. Her resolve remained whole, intact, and unfazed, naturally, as was her calling. Was that worthy of praise? Especially from a woman that had tried to kill her not too long ago?

“You didn’t ‘ave to help me or Emily, but you did. And you even fought back against Talon, when you didn’t have to.”

Tracer said all of this in a rather somber tone, still looking down on Widowmaker from her perch on the seat nearest to the bed, though Widowmaker was very aware of the continued, comforting touch of Tracer’s hand on her shoulder. If anything, during her comment, the grip intensified.

“I’m not somebody that can, y’know, piece together everything anyone’s thinking, but I wanna know something,” Tracer began, looking away for a moment, “and you probably know what I’m gonna ask, don’t you?”

Widowmaker could guess. Something along the lines of:

_“Why did you betray your masters?”_

_“How did you know Talon was coming?”_

_“Why the change of heart now instead of any other time?”_

But Widowmaker found that she could not speak. Her body was sluggish, likely as a result of a sedative or some other such thing that Ziegler had given her, compounded by a reluctance to reply as she was, uncharacteristically, timid about the situation. It was like a fragile glass pane, vulnerable to the slightest touch. One false step and Tracer would be lost to her, and she was not the one with the ability to rewind time.

Tracer apparently couldn’t read her mind and asked anyways.

“So, elephant in the room: why’d you do it?”

Widowmaker inhaled slowly, trying to assemble a coherent reasoning. In truth, most of her motivation for this had been, in retrospect, rather immature, reckless, and without her usual composure. She wanted Tracer, simply put. Thus, when she began the defense of her actions, Widowmaker could not look Tracer directly in the face.

“Do you truly want to know?”

Tracer was confused, nodding nonetheless. Widowmaker sighed.

“Talon and I… we do not usually disagree. I kill because they order me to, and they order me to kill because I enjoy it. I enjoy the hunt, the chase, and the excitement. When they found me and gave me a new purpose, I used it to kill my husband. He was only the first of many.”

Tracer said nothing. To her credit, she seemed to have expected something like this and waited (rather politely) for Widowmaker to finish.

“For years now, I have killed for Talon because it was the only thing that gave me peace. My skin is cold, my soul is dead, and my heart never beats. But when I kill, I feel alive. When I snuff out that flame, it brightens my own, even for only a short time.”

Widowmaker felt herself getting emotional. Unusual. Annoying. But she restrained herself, as if anyone was ought to know the truth of her existence, it was Tracer, especially given the current circumstances.

“I am a monster, aren’t I?” This comment was not particularly aimed at Tracer but more at Widowmaker herself, as a nihilistic statement about life. The spider did not question _why_ it killed, no. Leave that to the philosophers.

“No, I don’t think so. Well, maybe you were, but not anymore.” Tracer surprised her by interrupting her dreary monologue, moving to clasp one of Widowmaker’s hands with her own. The change in posture had, probably accidentally, revealed a somewhat scandalously plunging neckline of Tracer’s shirt.

In fact, it was all too clear that Widowmaker could very well kill this woman immediately if she wanted to. Tracer’s strength lied in her chronal accelerator and her elements of surprise, neither of which she had now. It would be so easy to consume yet another life in the ravenous self-masturbatory manner that Widowmaker usually devoured her prey.

But she didn’t want to. Not at all. Tracer being next to her was so comforting that she felt compelled to continue her reasoning.

“But… when you arrived at King’s Row, before I killed that Omnic, something was different.”

She found the courage to meet Tracer’s gaze.

“I swear to you when I say this, but when I saw you, I did not know what to feel. The way you move, the conviction you have… For a moment, at least, I didn’t need to kill to feel alive.”

Tracer’s cheeks blushed. What an innocent, naïve thing. Widowmaker wanted to blanch, herself, as this story of hers was bringing out a side in her that she did not like: an aspect of her character that she had long since wanted to forget about. She was not a woman that wanted – nor deserved – pity. Widowmaker was the product of her own decisions and anyone that disagreed be damned.

“I killed that Omnic and then I saw your face. I… do not know how to explain it, but I felt as though I had done something wrong. And then, only just a short while ago, Talon gave the order to have you follow him into the grave.”

“I didn’t want to do that. It would feel _wrong_. And I don’t want Talon to tell me what I should be doing, not anymore.”

Widowmaker knew what Tracer was thinking. That all of this was incredibly convenient, nonsensical, or perhaps even a plea from the insane. How could she trust this woman? How could she accept everything she said at face value, especially when she was a rather infamous individual for deception and infiltration? Widowmaker found all of this to be stressful, and she was particularly opposed to that. Killing for Talon was never as impactful as this.

Truly, Widowmaker had accepted the idea that Tracer would forever loathe her as a foregone conclusion. The chances of convincing her to follow her into her bed would thus be compromised. Widowmaker may have been an assassin, but something about her drew the line at kidnapping, torturing, or, God-forbid, forcing herself upon Tracer. She was too perfect for such a grisly fate.

Tracer, however, surprised her yet again.

“I like you better as Amélie, to be honest.”

Widowmaker could not stifle a muted gasp, though, in hindsight, she supposed she should have expected Tracer to perform her due diligence in research. Amari had likely informed Overwatch as to Widowmaker’s true identity, and it was her own lust that had blinded her to the idea that Tracer could simply have been feigning ignorance to her “Miss Amélie” charade.

(And with such an outrageous accent, Widowmaker could scarcely blame her, could she?)

“When did you figure it out?” She asked, mostly out of curiosity.

“I ‘ad my suspicions from the beginning. I’m not Winston, but I’m not stupid, y’know. Not a lot of French women as tall as you.” Tracer said, bearing a sad smile. “Didn’t believe it at first but back at my flat, I was piecing it together.”

“That, and you mentioned Talon too much to be just a tourist in King’s Row, right?”

Widowmaker nodded. “For what it is worth, I… didn’t want to do that either.”

“Why’s that, then?”

“Would you have believed this story then, if I had appeared in front of you from behind an alleyway?”

Tracer was silent for a moment. Widowmaker was, perhaps, rather pessimistic, but she did not think it a bad point of argumentation. She would not trust her own story, if she were in Tracer’s position. It reeked of convenience, of manipulation.

“S’pose I do believe you. What happens then?”

Widowmaker admitted she hadn’t really though that far ahead yet, as she was reasonably certain that Tracer wouldn’t allow such a development to occur. Despite this, she remained honest.

“I do not know. Talon will be persistent. I would need to hide to escape them, and I would recommend you to do the same.”

“I meant for us.”

“Us?”

Widowmaker did not understand her. Did she sustain head trauma when Widowmaker had not been paying attention? Was this simply a fever dream brought on by Ziegler’s medication?

“Yeah, us. You, me. Amélie, and Lena.” Tracer pointed between herself and Widowmaker to accentuate her point. “Talon will be after the both of us, yeah, but is that it?”

“What are you talking about? I lied to you, remember? Amélie Lacroix is as dead as her husband. I am Widowmaker, and you are Tracer. There is no ‘us’.”

Tracer looked pained, causing Widowmaker to wince, despite the truth in her words.

“I meant,” Lena began, “that when we’re not out and about fighting each other, we might get along just fine, y’know? Like at the mall? Not that strange, innit?”

Widowmaker disagreed, as the whole thing was so strange that she could get a headache if she thought about it too much. Despite this, even she had to admit that having fun with Lena, even if it had been under a deception, was indeed something that she had enjoyed. But it was foolish to pretend that the threat of Talon was nothing to worry about.

“You did have fun, didn’t you? Or was that a lie too?” Tracer asked, the hurt evident in her voice. This cut Widowmaker almost as deep as the bullet-wound in her arm.

“Non, that was not. I did not lie to you then. Amélie- I had fun, yes.” She hoped that her own conviction was enough to convince Tracer of the validity of her statement. To this end, Tracer’s mood seemed to brighten as a result.

“Well I had fun, and you had fun, then. Sounds like a regular bunch of mates ‘aving a good time, doesn’t it?”

“What are you saying?”

Tracer appeared to get impatient.

“I’m saying, why do we need to worry about being enemies when it’s a lot more fun to be friends?”

“You’re… serious?”

Tracer nodded fervently. Widowmaker had a hard time believing that her hearing was still intact.

“You know I nearly killed you? And I _did_ kill others.”

“Yeah, but lucky you, you’re a lousy shot and I’m not dead. And _you_ know that you saved my life just a few hours ago?”

Widowmaker had no reply. Pushing her luck this far felt dangerous. Tracer continued.

“Look, I know everything’s a bit odd ‘roundabout now, and I can’t tell you any of it makes sense. I didn’t know Amélie very long but I really liked her. Don’t you?”

Something snapped within Widowmaker, something so primordial and unquestionably of her own soul that it was hard to fathom how she had not known of its existence beforehand. This nebulous _thing_ , the identity known as Amélie Lacroix, was in conflict, perhaps for the first time that she could remember, with the identity known as Widowmaker. The two entities were trapped inside the same mind and body, yet warred in their wants. The urge to hunt and kill versus the urge to hold and caress.

Widowmaker simply had nothing at the forefront of her mind. No reply, no action, simply a complete loss of functions. She had long ago repressed the more negative emotions of the human experience, but at this very moment, even she could not withhold her composure.

And it was then that the great assassin of Talon’s employ shed her tears.

To her credit, Widowmaker was entirely silent as her eyes welled and her vision became watery. The duress that she was experiencing had overloaded any capacity she had for understanding herself at that time. Instead, all the boiling frustration, confusion, and yearning was let out, all at once, with these brief tears.

Tracer held her. Perhaps she even cried herself, though Widowmaker could scarcely pay attention as the immense pain of several dozen realizations hit her at once. Immediately, she felt a heart-wrenching guttural feeling of guilt. Perhaps Talon wasn’t as successful in molding her into the assassin they had wanted. Or perhaps there was nothing that could be done that could suppress humanity in such conditions, even with the techniques at their disposal.

Regardless, Widowmaker was only conscious of two things: the first being that her body was now very warm, thanks to Tracer’s presence, and the second being that, for the first time in a long time, she was completely vulnerable. And that thought was not frightening whatsoever.

“See? Told ya. Amélie’s in there somewhere, isn’t she?” Tracer’s voice was soft and soothing to Widowmaker’s ears. She could not speak for herself, however, as though the tears were brief, their effect was not.

She contented herself to simply being held for a while, letting the warmth of Tracer’s embrace permeate through her body. It was immensely comforting. Silence passed for a while until Tracer broke it once more.

“So, lemme get this right: the reason you did all this was because you just wanted a shag?”

Tracer caught her off-guard for what felt like the twentieth time. While Widowmaker no longer had the physical capacity to blush, she felt a similar burning sensation in her cheeks.

“N-no! Well, it’s not _just_ that! You, Tracer, you-“

She was silenced with a playful finger rising to her lip, shushing her in a faux-scolding motion. Tracer’s eyes were intensely dilated. Widowmaker shuddered under their gaze, as though they were staring into her soul.

“Y’know, you’re a bit of a looker yourself, too.”

That was all Widowmaker required to return her thoughts to that of her own arousal, a perpetual side-effect of most of Tracer’s mannerisms now, it seemed. The woman in question leaned further forward from her chair, her face now _very_ close to Widowmaker’s own.

“That part of your plan too? To get me all riled up?”

Widowmaker was so overwhelmed she didn’t know quite what to say, honestly. Instead, she refused to question this and simply accepted what was happening. Anything further would make her wake up from this dream, surely.

“’Cause it worked.”

 _“Mon Dieu, I need to fuck this woman.”_ Widowmaker thought desperately to herself as her heart-rate sped up to a fast jog once again.

“But, Tracer…”

“Hmmm?”

“What about Emily?”

A small silence. Momentary, but ultimately, Tracer had decided long before now what the outcome would be. Despite this, she merely snorted. It was an amusing motion that was unlike her, Widowmaker noticed.

“We’ve an agreement. This kinda thing’s universal, innit? No need to tie it down to just one person.”

Widowmaker could not control herself; she let out an involuntary exhale as she felt the impact of the affirmation wash over her.

 _“It’s really happening?”_ She wondered briefly, before Tracer took the intiative.

It was sudden and without preamble. Tracer leaned in to Widowmaker and kissed her. Her lips were soft, warm, and pleasant. Widowmaker noted that she smelled faintly of a perfume that she could not place.

Emotions had overloaded Widowmaker once already, and twice was simply too much; for the moment, all she could do was take in the physicality of her situation. There was neither time nor room for thoughts or contemplations or feelings; instead, there was only herself, Lena, and the burning desire that coiled within her.

She was aware of Tracer’s breath, the warmth it brought her, and how her body was now leaning over the bed as she had got out of the chair. She was aware of Tracer’s hands, holding the sides of Widowmaker’s face and caressing it, and faintly, Widowmaker was aware of her own body reciprocating such motions.

This moment lasted only a second, of course; to both parties present, this singular moment lasted an eternity. When she separated from Tracer, Widowmaker was cognizant as well of her own breathing, which had rapidly gained speed, as had Tracer’s own.

Amber eyes met golden ones as they stared into the soul of the other, both hazy with passion and lust. The amount of pressure within Widowmaker was surely to be the death of her; if this were any other woman, she would not have burned this intensely to simply _possess_ her. Tracer’s presence was enough to assuage her of her concerns. Talon, Overwatch, her lack of purpose in living; these things were inconsequential in the wake of being able to feel the allure of skin-on-skin with this perfect human.

“Blimey. You’re good at that.” Tracer breathed, her voice husky and deep, into Widowmaker’s ear.

“Lena…” She whispered back, before their mouths collided again and their kisses were elevated in passion. Tongue met tongue as the more instinctual sides of the two women superseded that of the more logical positions of enemy against enemy. In this moment, there was no history between them; all that mattered was the lust to consummate these yearnings.

Lena’s body was hot and heavy over Widowmaker’s own form, lying prostrate on the bed. The Englishwoman shifted her weight to straddle Widowmaker, her glorious figure now atop her in a most lewd fashion.

Widowmaker had the prime seat in the audience: she could see the swell of Tracer’s breasts from the cleavage of her shirt. She could feel the voluptuous curvature of her rump resting against Widowmaker’s midsection, and most of all, the lustful, whispered moans of the Englishwoman as Widowmaker continued her assault on her lips.

 _“Maybe I died after all, and this is just heaven.”_ Widowmaker thought to herself, before she moved an outstretched hand to Tracer’s breast and then subsequently lost all desire to continue thinking rationally. They were, in fact, the perfect size to grasp with Widowmaker’s hands; full and perky, but not too small that one was disappointed, and not too large that the task of fondling them became burdensome.

Kneading them with unmistakable purpose, Widowmaker continued to kiss Tracer, ravaging her mouth with the most effort she could muster. It was very different from the way she was with Sombra; with her Talon associate, Widowmaker had only the desire to dominate and to show Sombra that it was her privilege to suck to her dick and it was granted because Widowmaker wanted it to be. Here, there was a different drive entirely behind her actions.

In this room, divorced from the pressures of the rest of the world, Widowmaker had a singular objective: she wanted to make Tracer lose her fucking mind. Doing such a thing was an overriding concept. To hear the Overwatch agent writhing in ecstasy was a thought so enticing that the anticipation was palpable, perhaps even painful, to think about.

Despite this, Widowmaker was operating with a handicap; the injury in her arm made it uncomfortable to move the respective appendage, and as such, her attempts at foreplay were not as ambidextrous as they usually were. Nonetheless, she considered herself a skillful enough woman to find Tracer’s weaknesses and exploit them regardless.

“Tracer…” Widowmaker took a breath after exhausting her supply of oxygen and used this moment to whisper the name of her newest bedfellow into her ear and it amused (and aroused) her that this action was enough to raise the goosebumps on Tracer’s neck.

“Ngh- Y-you done this before?” Tracer muttered, breathing heavily herself.

“Not with someone like you, non, this is a first.”

It was true enough, Widowmaker mused. This was, after all, nothing like her encounters with Sombra, or with Moira, or with anyone else. Tracer’s skin and its softness sent electric shocks down her spine, the feeling of her breasts in Widowmaker’s hand making her arousal ever more pressing (literally, in the case of her erection).

“Well, blimey, Emily’s not like this.”

Widowmaker felt herself smirk in a most typical smug fashion. Good to know that her “rival” was unequipped to handle such stiff (again, literally) competition. She was sure to ruin Tracer for any other sexual liaison if she had the chance.

Though, Tracer was not to be defeated without resistance. No sooner as Widowmaker had felt the surge of selfish pride did Tracer attend her breasts with ministrations of her own, caressing them as she moved her lips lower to Widowmaker’s neckline, causing the assassin to shudder once more.

“Hot in ‘ere, or is it just me?” Tracer whispered, giggling to herself, as she massaged Widowmaker’s breast.

“I’ve never been hotter in my life.”

“Bloody right, that is.”

They smiled to each other before Tracer moved her hands to explore the folds of Widowmaker’s body underlying her clothing. The sensuous motions made Widowmaker groan in contentment, and she reciprocated with Tracer’s jacket and shirt the best she could with only one stable arm.

Soon, both were topless and Widowmaker’s erection reached a level of discomfort that she could no longer ignore, though she had to be sure of Tracer’s resolve before unleashing the behemoth. It would be too painful to lose her when she was so close.

“Tracer… Are you sure?”

Lena looked rather incredulous at the question.

“I took my bloody shirt off, didn’t I?”

“Non, I can see that, but… I am not like other women.”

Tracer merely laughed. It was not a derisive, teasing one like Sombra’s, which Widowmaker appreciated.

“Yeah, I’ve noticed. Blue skin really gave it away.”

“I meant-“

“And Angela told me you’ve got a dick.”

Widowmaker supposed at this point she should just stop being surprised, though the nonchalant way that Tracer said this was amusing, she had to admit.

“Plus,” Lena continued, playing with Widowmaker’s nipple, encircling it with a stray finger, as she did so, “Your knee’s shaped like a bellend, you know?”

Widowmaker was initially confused before she remembered the incident at the mall the previous day.

“Still. It’s- I have been told it is… difficult to work with.”

Tracer chastised her by leaning in closer and kissing her cheek.

“And shagging an assassin isn’t?”

“Good point.” Widowmaker conceded, though she was quite curious as to what Tracer’s reaction would be to see her cock at full mast. She doubted even the Swiss doctor could ascertain the extent of her third leg without a more thorough study.

To this end, Tracer’s hands wandered further down Widowmaker’s midsection until they reached the hem of her pants, lightly dancing over the surface as she

“I don’t rather fancy dicks, y’know, but I think it’s worth ‘aving a go, don’t you?” Tracer mused, almost to herself, as she tried to ease Widowmaker’s pants downwards, off of her rather wide hips.

 _“Please don’t run away.”_ Widowmaker thought to herself, half-fearful and half-dying to see the reaction Tracer would have to her own endowment. There was something unspeakably satisfying upon the realization that everyone had when they realized _exactly_ what they were dealing with, even if those that came to Widowmaker’s bed were exceptional themselves.

Tracer was apparently having difficulty freeing said-exceptional aspect of Widowmaker’s biology and when she looked further down Widowmaker’s legs, she could begin to see the issue, her eyes widening at the discovery: Widowmaker’s erection was straining so heavily against the confines of her pant legs that taking them off would be quite the challenge, the long dick-shaped bulge quite evident of what lay beneath it.

“B-blimey, that’s bloody huge!”

Tracer, to her credit, did not appear undeterred, however, and the true test of will would begin after she managed to extricate the dick in question from its prison.

“Did- Didn’t the doctor mention-?”

“Well she didn’t exactly tell me your measurements, alright?”

As soon as it was freed, Widowmaker’s cock burst out to assume it’s true height; a towering mass of rock-hard flesh, standing imposingly before Tracer, whose eyes were now as wide as saucers as she struggled to process the scene unfolding before her. It was not unsurprising, of course; there would be few among anyone in the world that could observe such a phenomenon and not become immediately intimidated.

“Oh my… God…” Tracer simply sat there, agasp, as she contemplated the size of this penis. She did not know whether Widowmaker had been blessed by every deity imaginable, or if Talon had constructed this appendage for her in some bizarre fashion for a mission that Tracer could not even fathom, but regardless, this was the truth: this woman had the biggest cock known to humanity, and that was really fucking hot to think about.

Widowmaker had moved to an upright position in the bed as she watched these events proceeding, hoping dearly that Tracer would persevere. The lewdness of the scene was almost too much to bear, her cock fit to burst at the sight of it.

“I-I’ve never… seen…” Tracer trailed off again, before reaching out tentatively to touch the tower of luscious flesh with a curious hand, rewarding this action with a moan from Widowmaker.

(In her defense, everyone that touched her dick had such cold hands that it was involuntary at this point.)

The hand gripped the thick shaft, and try as she might, Tracer found it impossible to capture the entire circumference with only one of her hands. She moved the other to accompany it, producing another gasp from the lips of the cock’s owner, which seemed to spur her on.

“You like me this much, huh?” Tracer muttered, casting a glance over at Widowmaker.

Widowmaker merely nodded. The intensity was such that it was difficult to speak coherently. As a general rule, she did not beg. Widowmaker was not someone that needed to ask for things in order to get them. Yet here, within this odd place, she was begging for Tracer to get her off.

“Please. Lena.”

Those were the magic words, evidently.

The Englishwoman moved her hands in tandem around the uncompromising surface of Widowmaker’s cock, massaging it tenderly. She was impressed by the texture and firmness of it, the way that it seemed to resist her movements.

Truthfully, Tracer had very little experience with penises before, and even she knew that the prime specimen before her was extraordinary even among the most endowed of men. This knowledge filled her with a perverse curiosity to see how Widowmaker would react to her various actions.

Widowmaker, on her end, was in a state of complete overlap between pain and pleasure. The way that Lena touched her hurt, but it was a good pain. The soft hands that moved about her cock, feeling it and subjecting it to her caress, was a glorious feeling indeed.

Tracer experimented, for a brief moment, in moving one of her hands to cup Widowmaker’s testicles, fondling them and feeling their malleable nature, roiling with their genetic payload (even if, metaphorically speaking, Widowmaker was shooting blanks) as she did so.

“Bloody ‘ell, that’s not fitting in my mouth, is it?”

Finally, Tracer took it within herself to steel her nerves and bite the bullet, so to speak. She maneuvered herself over Widowmaker’s body, the excruciatingly long cock sandwiched between them as she did so. Lena looked down and saw that even without Widowmaker’s manipulation, the cock reached from the base of her hips all the way to her sternum, such was its length. Truly, a massive undertaking, but she was intent on pleasing Widowmaker at this point, challenge be damned.

(She would need some ice come the morrow, though, certainly.)

“So, erm, you ready?” Tracer’s voice was a touch cautious, perhaps frightened, though Widowmaker could scarcely blame her. No-one was fearless enough to attempt this at first.

“Please, Lena. I want you.”

Widowmaker nodded in earnest as she said this, taking care to cup Tracer’s cheek with her good hand, planting a kiss there for encouragement.

“Hell, I need this inside me too.”

She looked down. There was a _long_ way to go before that beast would be sheathed within her.

“R-right then. Here I go.”

Tracer took this attitude in stride and positioned herself over the glans of Widowmaker’s considerable girth, intent on consummating their mutual passion at last. The mushroom-tipped head prodded at her entrance and despite several attempts, ultimately, it required the guiding of Widowmaker’s hand in order to find its mark.

The initial barrier to entry was harsh and even indeed a bit painful to Tracer. It was not an unexpected outcome, of course; humans were not meant to survive a fucklog of Widowmaker’s caliber unmolested, but Tracer was an extraordinary woman herself, and she was rearing to have a go at this behemoth for quite a while now.

Her response was, naturally, a moan of incredible proportions, setting off a natural reaction in Widowmaker as she did so. The angelic sound of the pleasure her object of affection was now feeling was a surreal, unbelievable thing. All the effort with planning and combating Talon had led to this moment and Widowmaker rode the wave of it as Tracer slowly lowered herself past the head of Widowmaker’s cock.

“Is- Am I doing it right?” Tracer asked, rather innocently.

 _“Mon Dieu, yesss.”_ Widowmaker moaned her assent and tried to buck her own hips in time with Tracer’s own, though the rhythm between them was disjointed and clumsy, despite the two women’s enthusiasm.

Tracer, for her part, was having a considerable amount of difficulty in controlling her composure as she sunk lower and lower onto the engorged penis of her new lover, mainly, since she feared that it would actually kill her if she did so carelessly. Despite this, she made her enthusiasm evident by placing both of her hands around Widowmaker’s shoulders to stabilize herself, kissing her as she did so and letting the moans of the two women meld together as they met with their lips.

“F-fucking hell! It’s so fucking big!” Lena swore, the delirious feeling of the cock within her driving her up the wall with a toe-curling sensation.

On the opposite end, roughly half of Widowmaker’s girth was lodged within Tracer’s body by the time that she had awaken a hidden instinct that she had not previously know she had possessed.

It was true: Tracer preferred her lovers to be women and she’d never really had much experience with guys (or their dicks) under any real circumstance. Obviously she’s taken sex-ed and had seen porn before, but nothing compared to the real thing, let alone something as monstrous as the specimen she had underneath and inside her at the moment. Nothing could have prepared her for the sensation of what felt like her guts being re-arranged to fit the obstruction that was now battering on the doors of her womb.

She had experimented with Emily and a bad dragon product at a few points in time, naturally, so she was not a stranger to the concept. Again, however, the real experience was something unprecedented.

“L-Lena! This is amazing!” Widowmaker whispered, in awe of it all.

Tracer knew that, on some level, the mere tightness of her body was not enough to satisfy Widowmaker and her prodigious proclivities, and as such, she would have to step up her game. She began to rock her hips back and forth, swaying her supple ass atop Widowmaker’s cock in an attempt to both better position herself for maximum pleasure but also to slate the thirst of the woman beneath her. There was something indescribable to the two of them that drove them to want to see the other break first, the idea that the actions they alone had taken resulted in an earthshattering orgasm for the other.

Widowmaker, of course, had wanted this from the beginning: to see Tracer writhe by her side, to have her say something along the lines of “Amélie, take me!” at the top of her lungs. The thought was a wettening fantasy that she had possessed long before this engagement, but Tracer similarly experienced this desire, to see the careful poise of the elegant Frenchwoman finally break and succumb to the pleasure that Tracer would give her.

Because of this, the two women fought furiously with their tongues to encourage the other to submit first, but neither would give ground. Tracer would simply ride Widowmaker harder, and Widowmaker would try to thrust as forcefully as she could to try and break the woman atop her. It was a vicious cycle that only served to increase the pressure building within each of them, until eventually, the adrenaline had sped up their passions such that the heat had become unbearable to contain.

 _“Merde, I might actually die from this.”_ Widowmaker thought rather incoherently, as she was trying to process all of the delirious tightness of the woman above her. There was not much further thought to be had as she focused on ramming as much of herself as she could into Tracer, desperate to see her crack first.

It was a furious tempo, the way that Widowmaker rocked her hips to meet Tracer’s own bucking movements, repeatedly hilting herself to the balls with each subsequent thrust. With Tracer riding wantonly atop her, her breasts heaving as her hips oscillated, Widowmaker knew that the pressure building up within her core was indicative of that she was nearing the edge of her rope.

“F-fuck me! Fuck me Amélie!”

As it turned out, the thing that finally sent her over the edge was when Tracer’s back arched and her expression signaled with absolute certainty that an orgasm had ruptured within her as she was impaled on Widowmaker’s cock. That was the sign that Widowmaker had been looking for, incidentally.

“Lenaaa-aahhh!”

Widowmaker let out a decisive moan marking her own climax. It was the loudest orgasm she’d ever experienced, in fact, as unholy combination of all things sexual melded into one ferocious moment of euphoria. The tightness, warmth, and the lewd way that Tracer was riding her, proved to be too much to handle. As her balls contracted, all at once, she was lost within a tumultuous wave of sublime pleasure, a toe-curling, spine-tingling orgasm that left her mind completely disoriented.

The riveting sensations rippled through her body as her cock expelled its payload deep within Tracer’s core, painting her innards white with splatterings of semen. Both of the women rode out their respective highs as Widowmaker’s prodigious capacities were exhausted, her balls clapping against Tracer’s ass as their rutting continued. Lena’s moans of approval were muffled when she leaned down to clash her lips upon Widowmaker’s own, one act of lasting passion to send out their movements.

And finally, when the ecstatic burnings subsided, Tracer fell limp atop Widowmaker, apparently content to not be moved whatsoever, and Widowmaker could not blame her. Though her monstrous third leg was sated, for the moment, the effort had drained not only her balls but also her stamina, and when her normal consciousness returned, she felt tremendously fatigued.

It was, after all, the most vigorous sex she’d ever had.

“Fuck… That was… really damn good.” Tracer sighed, contentedly, as she relaxed herself into Widowmaker’s shoulder.

Tracer herself seemed similarly unable to really do much of anything though this too was not something that could be assuaged; for all intents and purposes, Widowmaker’s cock was a weapon of mass destruction that was not fit for the unprepared, and Tracer had performed quite the feat in surviving its usage. She deserved some rest, surely.

“Oui. You were wonderful, Lena.”

Moreover, Widowmaker found the situation quite pleasant. Tracer lying in her embrace, spent but utterly satisfied with a deep dicking, curled up against her so they shared their warmth. Exhausted and battered though she was, Widowmaker found that she felt a form of peace envelop her as she lay there, recovering from her senses being blasted as she had blasted her new bedmate.

She finally closed her eyes and tried to sleep, noting that Tracer’s soft heartbeat was one of the last things her conscious mind was aware of before the darkness of slumber overtook her.

Maybe being a hero wasn’t so bad after all.


	4. Ménage à Trois (ft. Tracer & Emily)

Chapter IV - Ménage à Trois

-At Lena’s Flat-

Widowmaker woke up to the sound of Tracer lightly snoring, which produced a rather odd mixture of annoying and endearing feelings within her. On the one hand, it was a rare occurrence to wake up to _anyone_ in the mornings, as Widowmaker was sure to not let many get that close to her; obviously, Tracer was something of a major exception. On the other hand, she _was_ having a rather good dream. It was an explicit one in which she was still with Sombra, the Mexican hacker throating her cock with reckless abandon. Not unlike the events of the past forty-eight hours, though Widowmaker noticed that waking up was not as annoying as it normally would be.

Upon further consideration, however, she wondered if the dream she woke up to was better. And looking over Lena’s sleeping form, she decided in favor of this idea. What Tracer might have lacked in sexual prowess, she made up for in passion, or at least she had yesterday. Put simply, it was really fucking hot to think about.

Speaking of the devil…

Widowmaker put an arm about Tracer’s waist, pulling her a little closer, though Tracer still slept. Perhaps an act of sentimentality, one that Widowmaker was not predisposed towards showing, let alone feeling, or perhaps just an effort to conserve body heat, as even to the assassin whose skin was cold was it deniable that Tracer’s body was literally hot, in every sense of the word. It was a comforting sensation, to pull one such as Lena towards oneself.

A more curious revelation was that Widowmaker did not even currently feel a sexual urge at the moment, but merely one of contentment.

Strange. She would have to process this later.

Almost subconsciously, she reached out a hand to tousle Tracer’s hair. Secretly, Widowmaker had always wondered why the Overwatch agent styled it like that, if it even _was_ a styling. It was oddly amusing, such that Widowmaker suppressed a chuckle, despite her cold demeanor.

It was an early morning outside, she guessed, though with the lack of windows in this bunker-like compound, she really could not tell with any kind of accuracy. It was just a feeling, she mused. It seemed, however, that Tracer was not the type to wake up early, in any case.

For herself, Widowmaker was often restless, and truly deep sleep was a rare boon to her mood. An assassin slept lightly, lest they be killed, after all.

Further examination of Tracer, therefore, was in order, before this reverie would break and they would have to return to the real world.

Neither of the pair had bothered to put on their clothes, after all, since they had more or less collapsed into sleep after the rigorous sex they’d had the previous day. Widowmaker attributed this to the pent-up stress and adrenaline she had accumulated over the past few days, though as to why Tracer had become exhausted so quickly, she theorized that this was merely a side effect of dealing with a previously-unheard-of amount of penis on a French sniper.

Especially for a lesbian, Widowmaker was sure that such a thing would test even the strongest of wills. She could scarcely blame Tracer for this, of course, as that would be outrageous. Unfair.

Though the sheet of the bed, sparse as they were, were currently covering up Tracer’s breasts and most of her body (her feet were sticking out in a rather humorous manner, incidentally), the image of Tracer’s extremities bouncing atop Widowmaker’s own, from the events of yesterday, were likely something that would forever be burned into her memory.

Widowmaker moved her good arm to draw back the sheet a fair distance. Her other arm, the one that had been pierced by a lucky Talon shooter, was reduced to a dull, throbbing, annoyance. She supposed she should be grateful that it had not hit something more vital, yet all the same, a rush of frustration came back to her, temporarily, as she recalled her own ineptitude at allowing it to happen. Most humans could recover from such a thing in under two weeks, given proper medical treatment, and she thought of her own biology that this could be reduced to merely a single week, though ultimately time would tell.

Why the German / Swiss (which it was, she could not yet tell) doctor had deigned to aide her was anyone’s guess. Widowmaker assumed that Tracer had one helluva favor to pull, but whatever the reason, she was grateful. Perhaps the most damaging injury was the fall? Indeed, she had not yet tried to stand, let alone walk, but she assumed that she was put on some kind of pain medication, as there was not any form of outstanding agony to experience, indeed. She would need to encounter the doctor again regardless, Widowmaker mused.

But back to the topic literally at hand, Widowmaker lazily cupped one of Tracer’s breasts with her free fingers, a small grin on her face as Tracer subconsciously moaned slightly at the touch, despite her slumber. They were perky. Supple, even. Enough to fill one’s hand but not enough to escape it. Not too dissimilar from Widowmaker’s own breasts, as it was, but she could scarcely complain. Breasts of all sizes were to be cherished. And fondled.

A curious thought briefly wandered through Widowmaker’s mind as she focused herself on her ministrations: was she doing this for Tracer’s benefit, or for her own? Perhaps it didn’t matter.

She toyed with the nipple, which had already dilated due to the cold that was caused by the lack of warm sheet, though Widowmaker intended to substitute that with her own body heat shortly. A series of perversities went through her thoughts and she chuckled with a characteristic lascivity.

A curious development, for a woman to find another woman’s breasts so alluring, she supposed. A theory she had often heard was that men were so enamored with them due to a biological instinct related to breeding, in that a sign of fertility was the heft of one’s tits. Widowmaker doubted that such an instinct was what drove her passions, however. They just looked hot, was the long and the short of it.

It was indeed possible that this would rouse Tracer from her sleep, and Widowmaker would have to apologize for this transgression, as she undoubtedly had similar rules on the subject as Widowmaker herself did. However, setting her plan in motion, Widowmaker reasoned that Tracer wouldn’t object _too much_ if she was woken up to a certain sniper pleasuring her. It was just a hunch, of course.

Widowmaker let her hand wander down Tracer’s midsection, noting the muscled abs and a body that was clearly capable of combat. It was quite impressive, truth be told, to behold such a fine specimen. Tracer was a dedicated athlete, it seemed.

Her own need intensifying greatly with these ruminations, Widowmaker decided to skip to the main course, as it were.

Removing the sheets almost entirely, Widowmaker revealed to herself the treasured quim of the former enemy.

 _“Merde, that sounds cringeworthy even in my head.”_ She thought, briefly, before returning her attention back to Tracer.

Admittedly, it had been quite some time since Widowmaker had considered herself a cunning linguist. Or someone that just ate out chicks, to be honest. Usually, the people brave enough to get into bed with her were those that already got off on the spectacle of finding and fucking a futa cock. So in this context, Widowmaker was somewhat out of her element.

It was not as though she was estranged to the concept, of course, but try as she might, this could potentially be difficult. The mere presence of a hole was, after all, just a hole. The context was what created the allure, the thrill of pleasure. And Tracer was very thrilling indeed.

She curled a finger and tried to be as effective as possible, though it had been a considerable amount of time since she had endured “field experience”. It seemed to do the job, however, as Tracer let out an audible groan for her efforts.

Widowmaker noticed, turning her head to gaze upon Tracer’s countenance, that she was indeed finally awake. To be expected, as she imagined that few could endure this, even if it was not as good as she could hope.

“F-fuckin’ ‘ell. Not even awake and you’re already goin’ at it?” Tracer breathed.

“You looked cold. I wanted to warm you up.”

“Goddammit, _you’re_ cold!”

That was a minor lie, of course. Widowmaker wanted to warm her up regardless of how cold she was. It would be safer to say that Widowmaker wanted to fuck her senseless, but that could come later.

“Then let’s heat up the both of us.”

“Well… alright, then.”

Tracer did not protest further. Widowmaker allowed herself a smug smile.

Widowmaker recalled that it was optimal to start slowly at first, as though the rest of Tracer was also waking up. She doubted there was a feminine equivalent to morning wood, of course.

A soft ministration of the vulva, in more clinical, sanitized terms, was what was initially required. Truthfully, Widowmaker did not actually find the act too arousing, herself, but what she _did_ enjoy was the sight and sound of a woman in the throes of ecstasy. It was something enjoyable on a primal level, really. The knowledge that the actions of just oneself was enough to bring about a mind-shattering orgasm in someone else, even for a short time, was an intoxicating revelation.

Widowmaker reveled in this idea, and for Tracer especially, she wanted to hear Tracer scream her name. That was her desire, and it proved to be aptly motivating.

“How much do you want this, Tracer?”

Widowmaker spoke to her object of affection, this woman lying beside her, softly but forcefully near her ear. She had found that many people, men and women alike, were easily susceptible to her voice that way. The perks of being French, she supposed.

“Fuckin’ lots.”

“Très bien.” Widowmaker cooed, moving to add a second finger. She longed to look upon Tracer’s face when she went over the edge. That would be a better drug than any medication imaginable.

“Ngh. C-can you go… faster?” Tracer’s words were soft but still forceful, interspersed with an effort to remain quiet from her mounting pleasure. Widowmaker smirked to herself. She intended to make this woman scream.

Back and forth, the slender fingers of the assassin danced across the skin in a seductive rhythm. She was coax an orgasm out of Tracer yet. Of this, she was quite sure.

A third finger joined the fray, with the tempo of stimulation increased alongside it.

“Good God, Amélie. You’re, ngh, too good at this.”

Widowmaker did not even hide her triumphant smile. Truth be told, she rather enjoyed being the _femme fatale_ to the people she met. Particularly the ones that were drop-dead gorgeous like Lena.

“I want to hear you, mon cherie.” She whispered directly into Tracer’s ear, her hand gaining speed as she began to feel the rush vicariously through Lena’s rapid breathing.

“O-oh yeah? Hear, ngh, what, exactly?”

“Something very simple.”

Widowmaker added a third finger to join the others.

_“I want to hear you scream my name when you lose control.”_

“H-holy fuck…” Tracer breathed, her face flush and her hips gyrating in response to Widowmaker’s tempo, trying desperately to garner as much as pleasure as she could muster.

“A- Amé-“

“Say it.” She _needed_ to hear this.

“Amélie! F-fuck!”

And at once, Tracer came, _hard_ , on Widowmaker’s hand. Ceasing her ministrations, Widowmaker contented herself to kissing Tracer on the lips immediately afterward, who moaned into the motion as the high of her own orgasm slowly wore off.

 _“Her lips taste good.”_ Widowmaker noted, quite randomly, as she simply _felt_ , in her lover’s aftermath of ecstasy. What a tranquil feeling.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” Tracer breathed, rapidly, trying to regain her composure after pulling away from Widowmaker. “You’re _really_ good at that, luv.”

“Merci.” Widowmaker purred.

The pair contented themselves to simply basking in the warm of the other for a moment. Widowmaker’s erection, though fierce as ever from the recent activity, even began to subside after a time.

A moment turned into several, and gradually, Widowmaker felt her eyes begin to droop, with the warmth of Tracer’s body proving to be too temptatious to resist, though the mood was abruptly altered by the sudden sound of a growling stomach.

Tracer giggled at this unexpected stimulus, and Widowmaker finally felt the allure of hunger betray her senses, despite the comfortable sensations of relaxing within Tracer’s grasp. Ordinarily she was not predisposed to sleeping in but the temptation was weighed heavily in both directions, though she succumbed at last.

“Right then, you’ve probly not ‘ad food in a while, have you?”

Tracer seemed to read her mind, though Widowmaker merely chuckled as it was most likely obvious from the incessance of her stomach. They moved to put their clothes back on, and though Widowmaker knew it was too much to complain, but she felt mildly annoyed that she did not have access to her wardrobe again. The suit from yesterday, which no doubt was in dire need of a wash, would have to do.

Inwardly, as she accompanied Tracer to the door, Widowmaker hoped that the suit could come off again as quickly as possible. It wasn’t just that it was an uncomfortable reminder of Talon, but as she darted her eyes to the plump ass of her new acquaintance, she could already feel the stirring lust between her legs once more.

Something to make progress towards after an actual meal, though.

However, before Widowmaker could follow Tracer (and her gently swaying hips) back, she felt a tap on her shoulder, and turning, she laid eyes on one angry-looking Swiss woman.

“Ve need a vord with you.”

This was, without a doubt, the infamous Doctor Angela Ziegler that Tracer spoke of, accompanied on her left flank by a tall, muscular woman that Widowmaker did not recognize.

The Swiss doctor was rather beautiful, in the conventional sense, which proved an odd contrast for her comrade, who was of a much more Amazonian appeal. Widowmaker herself was a rather tall woman, yet the dark-skinned woman before her, by the side of Dr. Ziegler, was taller yet. An imposing figure, and both of the Overwatch agents were glaring rather decisively in Widowmaker’s direction.

She assumed that there was not an option to say “no”.

“Very well. What about?”

Ziegler simply scowled.

“You should know, _Talon_.”

She spat the word as though it were profanity, her animosity clear enough. Being a medic, Widowmaker assumed that she had treated (or tried to) many of Talon’s victims, perhaps some of them even belonging to her own kill-count.

That being said, purely at Tracer’s behest, this doctor _also_ treated Widowmaker herself, so she conceded to give the woman the benefit of the doubt.

“You will have to be more specific. It has been an eventful few days for me.”

Despite her genuine gratitude to the doctor for helping her, Widowmaker was also too prideful a woman to simply take this insult on the chin. To Ziegler’s credit, it appeared as though she was not intimidated either.

“Follow us.”

Widowmaker had no choice but to comply, it seemed. Tracer’s ass would have to wait, unfortunately.

-some time later-

Widowmaker followed the two Overwatch agents through several more hallways, noting several things as she went.

For starters, she assumed rather immediately that Dr. Ziegler and the woman that she knew not the name of were either close friends or even potentially lovers. The sheer difference in complexion ruled out familial ties (Ziegler was obviously Swiss, and the other woman seemed of an imprecise Middle-Eastern origin) but their body language was unmistakable. There was unshakeable trust between them and neither feared Widowmaker, despite obviously knowing of her identity, her past, and her capabilities.

Not that Widowmaker would _try_ to fight them, of course. She would not compromise her burgeoning circumstances with Tracer if she could not help it. But it was important to size up potential adversaries _before_ the combat starts instead of after it has already begun.

Sun Tzu had said something like that, Widowmaker mused.

She noted as well as that the tunnels were tight and claustrophobic, though they were consistently patterned. This bunker (or whatever kind of underground installation it was) appeared to be extensively planned, indicating that Overwatch had long since taken full control over the area and this was a more permanent base of operations than anything that Talon could scramble together during their own operations. Widowmaker was impressed, at the very least, to still be conscious enough to notice this, as she figured that this was, as well, the extent of Tracer’s influence within the organization.

Walking was not nearly as much of a hindrance as she might have expected. Perhaps the doctor had done most of the work on her legs as she had been unconscious, or perhaps she had simply been luckier than she initially thought to have sustained minimal damage. Regardless, Widowmaker was pleased to discover that she could walk more or less at the same speed that she normally could.

The women finally stopped once they had reached a large rectangular room that appeared to be a lounge of sorts, complete with furniture and even a small end-table, currently covered in the discarded decks of a forfeited card game. A recreational room, in other words.

Dr. Ziegler and the other woman allowed Widowmaker to enter the room silently, before the middle-aged doctor motioned for Widowmaker to sit down on the couch. She noticed, with annoyance, that the couch was somewhat cheap and not very comfortable.

At once, the doctor went to work unraveling the bandage on Widowmaker’s arm, and she noticed (with a degree of annoyance) that this Ziegler was not as gentle as she could have been. Not at all what Widowmaker imagined when she thought of a MILF nurse, in truth.

Soon, however, the bandage had been replaced by a newer, cleaner one, and for this, Widowmaker thought it wise to not complain. At least nothing had gotten infected.

“Vhat do you have to say for yourself? Hmm?”

The questioning began immediately. Widowmaker resolved to not be cowed by these women, Overwatch agents as they were.

“Again, you are not being precise enough. I have done a lot of things, Miss Ziegler.”

“Zat is Doctor Ziegler, to you!”

Widowmaker had noticed earlier that the doctor was sensitive to issues of title. A useful weakness.

“Oui, oui, _Doctor_ Ziegler. I am not here to cause trouble.”

“Why, then, has Lena retrieved you from an alleyway on the brink of death? Why, then, were you dragged back here like a dying animal?”

Widowmaker bristled at the other woman’s tone. It was clearly personal, this vendetta she seemed to have ignited within the doctor, though of what nature, Widowmaker could not yet discern.

“Did she not tell you herself?”

Widowmaker was no stranger to interrogations. An important step was to keep the questioner off-balance, and again, even though she did not sense at _overt_ intentions of torture from the Overwatch agents, she was, after all, deep within the recesses of their headquarters. It would not be a reaching statement to say that no-one would notice if she were to suffer an “accident”. She would do well to not piss the women off _too much_.

“Nein, she did not.”

The admission was clearly very frustrating for the doctor to admit, allowing Widowmaker a small, almost imperceptible smirk to herself, reflecting of her victory, small as it was. Hopefully the first of many.

“Then I will tell you, as recompense for helping me yesterday.”

A raised eyebrow, indicative of surprise, but not a further response. Widowmaker took this as a sign to continue.

“I have recently run afoul of Talon. I refused an order to assassinate one Overwatch agent, Tracer, several dozen hours ago, and in retaliation, they attempted to have me killed. I was successful in surviving this encounter until, as a result of my own clumsiness, I was shot in the arm and fell from several stories of a building down to the ground. Or so I have gathered.”

Widowmaker flexed the injured arm in question, which was still a dull throbbing pain, though not nearly as horrendous as it had previously been.

“Tracer – Lena – then rescued me as I lost consciousness. The rest, I believe, is something you should know even better than I, doctor.”

Widowmaker’s story was greeted with silence for a long while. Ziegler was still frustrated, but her lack of response suggested that she was doubtful. The other woman, the taller, darker-skinned one, spoke first.

“Why would Lena do this? You killed the Omnic she was to protect not even several months ago, didn’t you?”

She had a low-pitched voice, though it was unaccented, suggesting that either she was a second-generation immigrant or exceptionally fluent in English. Either one implied that she was not to be underestimated. Widowmaker kept her cool, however.

“I do not mean to be rude, but again, why do you not ask her yourself?”

This did not soothe the tension whatsoever, as the dark-skinned woman threateningly stepped forward, closer to Widowmaker, and while she sat, the other woman towered over her with an imposing figure.

“We aren’t asking her. We’re asking you.”

“I do not know why. I was unconscious for most of the day, as your friend here can tell you,”  
Widowmaker gestured to the doctor for clarification, “and as for the reason, I have not had the chance to speak much to Tracer myself since the incident.”

This was partially true, of course. Widowmaker hardly counted the moans that she shared with the buxom British woman as “conversation”, though she was much more likely to remember them than any particular phrase that Lena could possibly speak. Unfortunately, the thought distracted her temporarily from her collected mood, threatening to overtake her again as her mind swam with memories of lust.

“If I were to guess, I would say it would be because we have grown rather… fond of each other, lately.” Widowmaker supplied, in an attempt to cover her momentary lapse of focus.

Both of the other women looked unconvinced, and honestly, Widowmaker could not blame them. It _was_ a rather incredulous set of events, a series of coincidences bordering on falsehood.

“What do you mean, “fond”? You are an assassin for Talon. Do you actually expect us to believe this _bullshit?_ ”

The taller woman’s voice was dangerously close to anger now, as the rising inflection clearly warned of. Widowmaker had to defuse this quickly.

“Forgive my continued rudeness, but you seem rather smart, so I admit that I am confused. Are you not aware of what the term means? Are you not fond of your comrade here in a similar way?”

As predicted, Doctor Ziegler was spurred into action immediately upon hearing this. Widowmaker did not dare to reveal her satisfaction to her questioners, though internally she was pleased with herself. The snark was part of her nature, undoubtedly, but she enjoyed it nonetheless.

“Zat is none of your business! And if you-!”

“Are Lena’s affairs any concern of yours, then?”

“Of course they are! You are our enemy, and yet you walk in here as if you are a close ally!”

Perhaps it was the nature of Overwatch to be excessively paranoid, Widowmaker mused, though she admitted that this line of questioning was not proceeding as planned. If anything, she had to choose her words quite carefully.

“I rather like Lena. And Talon no longer found a use for me, as I had no more use of them. I alerted Lena to their whereabouts prior to the operatives arriving and attempted to lure them away myself before my injury. Is that not simple enough to understand?”

Silence, but only for a moment. The unnamed woman spoke.

“You “like” her? Something as emotionless as you? We know that you are Widowmaker, the infamous assassin. How can you claim this?”

“Perhaps my earlier judgment was incorrect. You must be slow _and_ deaf.”

Truthfully, it was perhaps inadvisable to be so brash, though Widowmaker was rapidly losing patience. The woman’s attitude was rather annoying.

Fortunately, the dark-skinned woman merely glared at her.

“What do you know of fondness, assassin? Talon certainly did not teach you that when they brainwashed you into their cause.”

“Why do you assume that I was indoctrinated into following them, rather than joining of my own volition? In fact, what makes you think that you know much about me at all?”

Widowmaker cut back, forcing restraint to not be at least _openly_ antagonistic. Truthfully, she was grateful that she had been saved, but that did not mean that Overwatch was entitled to her simply rolling over and waiting to be released. 

The dark-skinned woman narrowed her eyes.

“We do not trust you.”

“Really? I had not noticed.” Widowmaker quipped, feigning a look of boredom, before continuing. “If you do not have anything meaningful to actually talk about, I would like to get back to my breakfast before it becomes too cold to eat.”

“As cold as your body?” Dr. Ziegler asked, seemingly biting into her tongue as she spoke.

“As cold as your mood, good doctor.”

The dark-skinned woman _harrumphed_ in a rather boorish manner, which Widowmaker had to restrain herself from laughing at. It was a childish motion, though she made it seem almost cute. What an odd specimen.

“You expect us to believe this? That you and Tracer get along fine because of, what, a nice change of heart?” The taller woman was relentless in her questioning.

“We fuck. I think that helps.” Widowmaker quipped again, feeling impossibly smug.

The reaction was definitely worth it.

“Are you fucking serious?” The tall woman asked, incredulous.

“Would you prefer if I used a double entendre?”

“I do not believe zis.” Ziegler said, looking rather disheveled. Widowmaker recalled that Tracer spoke of how Ziegler informed her of Widowmaker’s sizable hidden appendage, so she imagined that Ziegler was trying to picture such a scene. It amused Widowmaker to theorize this.

“Is it that unbelievable? She is a very attractive woman. I like to think of myself in a similar way.”

“You _wish_ you were on her level, you blue-skinned freak.”

Widowmaker noted that the taller woman was still as acidic as before. How annoying.

“A pity she does not share your opinion.”

The other woman merely snorted.

“Assuming you’re telling the truth.”

As amusing as frustrating Ziegler was, Widowmaker found that her patience (and hunger) was rapidly depleting, such that she wanted very much to return to her meal.

“If you continue to not believe me, perhaps you would join our bed to see for yourself?”

“Fuck off, Talon!”

 _That_ finally seemed to break the resolve of her enemy, Widowmaker noticed. The tall woman looked quite repulsed.

“Now, if you have any other inane questions, I would prefer to go back to my breakfast.” Widowmaker stated flatly, turning over her shoulder towards the mess hall again.

“B-but… how did you-“ Doctor Ziegler appeared to be stammering over the concept of Widowmaker actually having sex, undoubtedly wondering due to the size of her dick. Truthfully, Widowmaker herself wondered how everything was physically possible, but she found that it was best to simply not question such things. Life finds a way, it seems.

“With lubrication, good doctor.”

“What the hell is she talking about, Angela?” The tall woman turned on her companion immediately, though the doctor was still somewhat taken aback.

“W-we can talk about it later. It’s just…”

Widowmaker exited the scene, content to leave the pair behind. A strange couple indeed. As she walked the corridors back to the mess hall, seeing Tracer’s face brighten as she approached the table again, she wondered in the back of her mind whether or not Ziegler was a top or a bottom. She was betting on the latter option, after this most recent exchange.

Both of those Overwatch agents, really, were pretty hot, she mused. Even if the tall one was a bit of a bitch.

Tracer waved her over, clearly curious as to where she had gone. Unfortunately, Widowmaker assumed that by now, her meal had long since grown cold, though Tracer apparently had considered this and had somehow acquired several slices of pizza.

Widowmaker considered herself quite a refined person of tastes far above what could be called ‘plebian’, though even she admitted that this Italian food was quite enjoyable. She took a slice for herself while Tracer asked her the inevitable question.

“Why’dya run off a few minutes ago?”

“Your friends were asking me about yesterday.”

Tracer looked puzzled for a moment.

“Angie? Don’t worry luv, she’s always like that.”

“No, the tall one that follows her around. I did not catch her name, but she was difficult to deal with.”

“Oh, Pharah?”

“Sure.”

Widowmaker was noncommittal. In a case of survival, she was sure she could escape this place. That was not arrogance to say such things, for she truly believed this. Overwatch was not to be underestimated, of course, but this place was not nearly as fortified as she had once believed.

“They weren’t too much of a bother, were they?” Tracer inquired, a bit concerned.

“Non, I do not think so. The doctor was merely curious as to why you brought me here.”

“I told her it was a favor she owed me.” Tracer said, grimacing.

“And I told her to ask you herself. So if she comes to see you later, I do apologize.”

That got a chuckle out of her.

“No, she’s just a bit protective. She wouldn’t hurt anybody. Well not intentionally, I think.”

“You said she knows about my condition?”

Tracer, for her part, looked scandalous that Widowmaker could say it aloud, with potential eavesdroppers nearby, but she nodded her assent.

“I assumed so. She seemed like she wanted to know how it fit.”

Tracer blushed considerably. Perhaps her bravado yesterday was merely an act for her own confidence, or perhaps she was not used to such private affairs being discussed in a public space. Widowmaker thought it was cute.

“That’s, erm, one of the mysteries of the universe.” Tracer said, giving a nervous laugh. Widomwaker grinned. It reminded her _very specifically_ of the previous night, the thought of which made her cock begin to stir between her legs once more. When it came to Tracer, she suspected that she might be truly insatiable.

“Speaking of which…” Widowmaker’s voice dropped into a more sultry tone, one more appropriate for her mood. She hoped Tracer could pick up the hint.

She perked up immediately.

“Want to do it aga-?”

“Fuck yeah.” Tracer interrupted, clearly very agreeable.

They both laughed, moving to dispose of their food and then Widowmaker followed Tracer back to the dormitories.

At the mere thought of getting to bed her again, Widowmaker found herself already painfully hard, but this did not distress her in the slightest.

Indeed, as it turned out, being on “the good guy’s team” did have some very pertinent benefits.

\--some time later--

Making it to the bed with all of her clothes on was a difficult task.

Her hands about Tracer’s waist, her lips on Tracer’s own, all Widowmaker could think about was how much she wanted to fuck this Brit senseless. The python coiled between her legs was as restless as ever, threatening to burst at the seams if it did not soon achieve release.

Lena’s lips were still just as amazing as the previous day, soft and malleable, though Tracer herself was aggressive in her pursuits. Widowmaker found it extremely alluring that her partner was this enthusiastic, at least.

“Mhmph. Amé-“ Widowmaker cut her off. The time for words would come later, but the time for making out was now.

God, how sweet those lips were.

Widowmaker’s hands drifted upwards, one cupping Tracer’s cheek, pulling her closer, while the other moved to her breast. A sizable one, at that, to Widowmaker’s pleasure. She had only limited contact with this bosom prior, but she intended to explore them further whenever possible. Tracer’s body was a divinely sculpted image of human beauty, after all, or as close as one could get with any kind of realistic expectation.

Hands moved to clothes, voraciously removing them so as to no longer obscure the sensual skin beneath them. There was no room for modesty when there was fucking to be had, of course. And Widowmaker was fit to burst soon, that was sure enough.

Tracer’s jacket was discarded immediately to make way for hands to massage nipples, along with the top section of Widowmaker’s jumpsuit as Tracer grabbed her by the waist, pulling her closer.

“Amélie…” Lena breathed against her ear, her breath hot and heavy with need. That kind of sound, the lustful intonation of a woman in (literal) heat, was something that struck a primal chord with Widowmaker. A need that signaled a lust of her own, though that was to be expected by now, she mused. Lena’s hands, soft and supple, moved to the bulging outline of Widowmaker’s cock beneath the pants of her jumpsuit, massaging it beneath its confines.

“I’m gonna pay you back for this morning. How’s that sound?” Tracer whispered intently.

Widowmaker could only nod, as words were difficult to come by when she was concentrating on now pinning Tracer down on the spot. With the feeling returned in her body, her injuries recovered from, she found it exceptionally trying to resist these kinds of thoughts. But, it was as Tracer said: this was payback for this morning. She could not interfere with whatever Lena’s plan was, out of respect.

Tracer’s other hand moved to Widowmaker’s balls, and though still trapped within her pants, they too were roiling from the anticipation.

“You like that, luv?”

“Mhmmm. Tracer…”

Widowmaker was focusing on not blowing her load immediately, since Tracer’s touch was somewhat electric against her cock.

“That’s a ‘yes’, then, innit?”

She moved to strip Widowmaker of that last barrier that protected the outside world from a most salacious rampage. Though made somewhat difficult by the curvature of Widowmaker’s wide hips, Tracer eventually managed by fumbling around with her hands while she danced her tongue against Widowmaker’s own. With the suit now fully removed, Widowmaker’s cock once again sprang free.

There was something to be said for Tracer’s eyes still growing wide at the sight of it. An arousing splendor from that look, a mixture of wonder and sheer lust. Widowmaker imagined briefly that it was probably a sight she would never forget.

“I’m gonna polish your knob. How’d you like that?” Tracer said, her voice low, hazy, and thoroughly aroused.

“Please do.” Widowmaker replied, before she leaned over and kissed her again.

Tracer continued her ministrations, returning Widowmaker’s snogging, then she lowered herself to her knees, between Widowmaker’s thighs, as the Frenchwoman sat upon the bed.

“Sooo, erm…” Tracer began, awkwardly clearing her throat, one hand reaching out and gripping Widowmaker’s cock at the base. “Is this even, uh, physically possible?”

Widowmaker’s mind flashed back to the several daring women that had tried to engulf the entire thing. Many had made attempts, few had achieved this goal. Out of all of them, only Sombra had succeeded, so far, anyways. The thought of bottoming out in Sombra’s mouth made her cock twitch again, though to Tracer, she merely nodded.

Best not to mention Sombra right now, really.

“Just start slowly and work your way up to it.” Widowmaker tried to assuage Lena’s fears, though she doubted this had much effect. Not that she could blame the British woman; the beast before her was peerless in its intimidation.

“Right. Ask me to climb Everest next.”

Widowmaker suppressed a laugh and then a groan as Tracer’s hands moved to meet her cock around the middle. Even with both, her fingers barely encircled around the entire girth before her. Widowmaker heard an audible gulp from the British woman.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ _thick_ though. Blimey.” Tracer whispered, the awe refusing to leave her gaze.

Widowmaker allowed herself a smug smile, privately, as she relished in this. She needed not be prideful, as it was her nature to assume her own excellence, but people praising her endowment was always nice to hear.

“You ever, y’know, measure it?”

Widowmaker nodded, focusing diligently in not bathing Tracer’s face with semen at the moment. She was determined to at least last long enough for Tracer to grace her crown with her mouth.

“Christ. Gotta be half a meter, at least.”

Widowmaker nodded again. More or less that was what 46 centimeters equated to. Considerably larger than any specimen she had known of, at least. A bacculum of monstrous proportions to match an equally-exceptional context.

Exploratory hands roved about the tower of flesh, the girth and vasculature of this monstrous cock, the sensations sending shivers down Widowmaker’s spine. Turning her gaze downward as well, Tracer noted the bulging testicles that accompanied the behemoth above them. Caressing them, Tracer took time to get a feel for them, gawking at the prodigious size.

“You’ve got a nice pair on ya too, huh? Did ya swap ‘em out for a pair of grapefruits when I wasn’t lookin’?”

“No one has complained ever about them, no.”

“Things are bloody huge, I’d expect nobody had the mind to complain.”

Widowmaker twitched again as Tracer’s hands massaged the balls, noting with some amusement that she could not fully encapsulate one of them with just one hand.

“How much cum you’ve got packed in there, anyways?” Tracer asked with a salacious grin.

“Enough for you.” Widowmaker replied in even tone.

Widowmaker noted that Tracer was slightly incorrect as to the anatomy of the situation, but given the circumstances (mainly, that it was fucking hot to say that), she decided not to correct her and simply enjoy the whole thing.

Returning her hands to the shaft, Tracer attempted her best to lubricate it with her tongue, licking it up and down, caressing it with kisses, and making a pointed effort to keep her eyes level with Widowmaker’s own. The expression was an undisguised lust, and honestly, that was what was the most arousing of the whole ordeal for Widowmaker. That passionate gaze, that urge _to fuck_ , was intoxicating.

Bathing the dick with her saliva, Tracer worked the shaft with both hand and tongue, up and down, as luxuriously and torturously slow as she could.

Finally, after all this effort, Tracer graced the head of her cock with her tongue, lapping at it briefly while her hands slid up and down the shaft, or at least, the area of the shaft that she _could_. Truthfully, it would take several people to cover the entire thing at once with just their hands, though Widowmaker was sure that Lena was giving it her best.

She did, however, experience some trouble. So thick was the crown of this cock that Tracer was having a bit of difficulty even fitting it into her mouth. Evidently, with a lack of experience, the act of relaxing one’s jaw to the extent required to essentially swallow a third leg was not something that Tracer was accustomed to, to Widowmaker’s chagrin.

No one could state that Lena was not trying her best, however. Resembling a cat with a canary in its mouth, she attempted, through gradually-widening eyes that displayed her expelled efforts, repeatedly to force the cock inside her, to no avail.

Pointedly, Tracer finally pulled off of the mammoth cock and relaxed her jaw, briefly, trying to regain her composure.

“Er, I’m sorry, but I just- I can’t do that.”

For her part, Tracer looked truly apologetic, and Widowmaker inwardly panicked, though of course she understood. Not everyone could unhinge their jaw like a python to accommodate… well, another python.

“Do not worry Lena. It is not something to be ashamed of. I-“

“Don’t gimme that Amé, I know you’re disappointed. I’d be too.”

A moment of uncomfortable silence fell between them before Tracer perked back up.

“But don’t worry, I’ve got an idea to fix this mess, or,” she said, lowering her voice and casting an amusing faux-seductive glance at Widowmaker, “to help you make a big one.”

Widowmaker chuckled.

“What have you got in mind, then?”

Tracer responded by moving, once more, to the junction between Widowmaker’s legs, and thrust herself ass-first from her position on the floor into Widowmaker’s lap. With her arms and legs stretched out to the floor beneath her, Tracer looked back at Widowmaker over her shoulder with a cocky grin.

“Ya like my arse so much I figured that’d do if my mouth couldn’t.”

“Good idea.” Widowmaker admitted, as the whole thing was a bit overwhelming. There was just _so much ass_ to go around that she didn’t quite know where to start. At long last, she could manhandle that delectable derrière to her heart’s content, and even more, Tracer’s enthusiasm was rubbing off on her. Almost literally, in fact.

Drunk on anticipation, Widowmaker sunk her hands into the plump softness before her, grabbing at the hips

“Eh, try not to stick it inside just now. I kinda need to be able to walk for the rest of today, y’know?”

Though she was disappointed, Widowmaker supposed that was a reasonable choice. While she was sure that word would get around Overwatch in time (mainly because it seemed that this ‘Pharah’ did not care much for her), it would be attracting a little too much attention if Tracer couldn’t walk as well as an enemy agent that had recently fallen from a building.

“I’ll make it up to ya, I swear!” Tracer called back, looking a bit anxious. Widowmaker assumed that she took this reciprocity a bit seriously, so to alleviate her concerns, Widowmaker removed one of her hands and used it to steady her cock between the fleshy cheeks before her.

“Ahhh…” She exhaled deeply as Tracer managed to encapsulate a great portion of her cock with her ass-flesh, hotdogging it with a hypnotizing tempo.

“Magnifique.” She thought out loud.

“I knew you’d like that!” Tracer was indeed quite pleased with herself.

“Your ass is huge, you know.”

“S’what I’ve been told.” Tracer grinned, perhaps feeling a bit of hubris. “Big arse for a big prick, right?”

 _“And Sombra wonders why I defected.”_ Widowmaker thought to herself before proceeding to ride Tracer’s rump from behind.

The pressure, rather amusingly, was a little much for her; perhaps Widowmaker had been overwhelmed from all the foreplay, or perhaps she was simply _too_ infatuated with Tracer’s voluptuous body, but she found her orgasm building up much more quickly than usual.

Almost to her embarrassment, she rapidly neared the end of her rope.

“L-Lena! I’m cumming!”

Tracer looked back at her, confused but also quite mirthful.

“Already? I know you like my arse, but daaamn…”

Widowmaker did her best to retain her dignity and remain composed, though the way Tracer was still bucking her hips, coaxing every last shot of cum out of her body, she found the idea very difficult to adhere to.

“You were teasing me that whole time. Of course I would-“

“Uh uh, that’s payback for this morning. Told ya!”

Tracer was grinning like a madwoman, and with such a smile, Widowmaker could not help but reciprocate. It was an infectious amusement.

Luckily, nothing white had gotten into Tracer’s hair, and the pair could move relatively quickly back into a cuddling position on the bed. It turned out that Tracer was an _excellent_ little spoon, something Widowmaker greatly appreciated.

-some time later-

They lay there, for a time, until Tracer broke the silence once more.

“So. Um, I’ve got a question.”

“Hmmm?”

“So yesterday you er, well you came inside, right?”

“Mmm, oui, I did.” Widowmaker grinned, remembering the amazing feeling.

“Does that mean I’m gonna get knocked up?”

Widowmaker was silent for a moment. Obviously she knew it was impossible. She literally did not have Y chromosomes, at least not to her knowledge, and nor did she produce sperm. Granted, her grasp on biology was not as refined as an expert in the field might be, but she was reasonably certain that was how it worked. Her cock, such as it was, was something of a medical miracle, bordering on mad science. She did not know how precisely O’Deorain was able to even create such a rampant beast, but she had assumed that for all this time, Widowmaker simply functioned as one would with a vasectomy.

“Non, I do not think so. This is,” Widowmaker gripped her dick for extra emphasis as she spoke (mostly because she just wanted to do that whenever Tracer was around), “not something I was born with. I think.”

Tracer seemed mystified.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but how does all that work, actually? Did you just work for Talon and then suddenly you were all “Blimey, I’ve got a fuckin huge prick?””

Widowmaker shrugged.

“I do not know, Lena.”

They lay silent for a while, simply basking in the warmth of the other. Widowmaker found it surprisingly very relaxing, even though normally the sight of such an amazing nude ass was enough to get her riled up very easily.

“Oi.”

“Hmmm?”

Lena wrapped an arm around Widowmaker’s waist, stroking the small of her back.

“I’ve got an idea.”

“What might that be?”

She looked Widowmaker right in the face, an _extremely_ mischievous look about her.

“What d’ya think about Emily?”

Widowmaker was puzzled.

“What about her?”

“Think she’s hot?”

“I… suppose? I haven’t realy seen her, but you have good taste, so I must assume she is at least somewhat attractive.”

Tracer looked pleased.

“You wanna fuck her too?”

“… Are you serious?”

Lena nodded very enthusiastically.

“Wouldn’t that be up to her, then?” Widowmaker asked, tentatively cautious.

“C’mon, who _wouldn’t_ want to take a shot at you? You’re pretty damn gorgeous yourself, y’know?”

While flattered, Widowmaker was still a bit surprised that Tracer would essentially cuckquean herself like this. She had not anticipated such a move.

“Plus,” Tracer added, her voice somewhat lower, her eyes darting between Widowmaker’s thighs, “nobody’s got something that belongs on a horse like you do, right?”

“Well, I don’t see why not.”

It was fair enough; Widowmaker would not very well _refuse_ someone that wanted to bed her, even if the circumstances were quite unusual. She would have assumed that the whole “ex-Talon assassin that is literally cold-blooded” thing was enough to dissuade someone like Emily from going near her without a deadly weapon, but maybe she was into that kind of thing, who could say?

“Oh, you’ll _love_ her. She’s got a lovely accent, she does. And a nice pair of legs. Just drop-dead, all ‘round, really.”

“Is that so?”

“I’ll ‘ave to ask her, obviously, but I’m sure she’s say yes. She’s pretty adventurous.”

Tracer seemed extremely enthusiastic about this idea, with the way that she was beaming about it.

Widowmaker had only glimpsed this Emily once, the previous day, under _very_ unflattering parameters. The tense beginning of a firefight involving one’s lover had not been an ideal first impression, that was true enough.

“Is she fond of assassins, then?”

“She’s in the know, y’know. I told her ‘bout yesterday before I went over to see ya.”

“Ah.”

She supposed that was something of an inevitability. Tracer did not seem the type to keep secrets of any kind if she could help it, though Widowmaker was sure that few of her superiors would approve of her informing her girlfriend of a potential assassin that was  
A) not really that dangerous  
and  
B) extremely fuckable

But then again, the whimsical British woman was rather alluring that way, Widowmaker mused.

While Tracer was more or less the zenith of sex appeal, as far as Widowmaker was concerned, if it would help to satisfy her, then Widowmaker could comply if she could. Plus, Emily sounded interesting in her right.

“Alright then, Lena.”

Tracer shuddered, as though a shiver went through her. Widowmaker’s cock twitched at the sight of it.

“Ohhh, could you, uh, could you say that again?”

“What?”

“My name. You said my name, could you say it again?”

Widowmaker grinned, leaning close to Tracer’s ear.

“You like it when I say that, _Lena?”_ She put an absurd amount of emphasis on the name, accenting her voice intentionally as though she were some kind of actress in an unsavory movie.

Tracer ate it up though. Widowmaker guessed this was a new fetish or something.

The British woman moved her hands to Widowmaker’s cock, giving it a hearty squeeze, surprising her lover. The erection throbbed with a returned vengeance at the attention.

“I don’t think I can wait much longer ‘til Emily gets to see _this_.” Tracer said, her own voice lowered and husky. The lust was palpable within her expression.

Widowmaker reached full mast quite quickly, pulling Tracer over into a kiss.

“We should shower. A good first impression, of course.”

Tracer nodded, a fierce grin on her face.

“Yeah. Should share the water too, just to not be wasteful.”

They kissed again, before Widowmaker realized, pointedly and awkwardly, that she actually had no idea where the shower was. Apparently able to discern her thoughts, Lena simply giggled.

“We’ll shower at _my place_. Angie won’t like it if we fuck in the showers here.”

“They’ll just let us leave?”

Tracer grinned.

“They will if I tell ‘em you’re under house arrest. And I’ll be keeping a _very close watch_ over you.”

Her eyes dropped to the cock of her affections.

“ _Very close watch.”_

Widowmaker rolled her eyes while returning the smile. A lame line, but she understood the sentiment.

Begrudgingly, the pair moved quickly to put their clothes back on to make the short trip back to Tracer’s flat. Widowmaker noticed rather distressingly that her suit was in dire need of washing. How unromantic.

Luckily, Lena did not seem to notice, and the both of them exited the room, Widowmaker presuming that they were to speak with whomever was in charge of this particular Overwatch installation.

After some time of navigating seemingly endless tunnel corridors, they arrived at a rather mundane-looking office room, in which there were seemingly infinite numbers of rooms that branched off from it. They were in a waiting area, of sorts, it seemed, and upon reaching this, Tracer turned over her shoulder to face Widowmaker.

“I’ll be back in a bit. Have a seat over ‘ere if ya want to.”

And with that, she vanished into one of the myriad of rooms. Widowmaker assumed that she was trying to locate whoever passed for a commanding officer here, though with Overwatch, she could never really tell.

Taking a seat, Widowmaker contented herself by just taking in her surroundings and thinking, as she often did when she was on a mission.

Though, true to her word, Tracer returned rather quickly. In fact, it was so quick that Widowmaker scarcely wondered if she talked to anyone and had just left a post-it note or something on a door saying something to the effect of “Taking hot Talon assassin with me, will return when done.”

“How did you-?” Widowmaker began, though Tracer cut her off with an extremely disarming smile.

“You’d be surprised how many people owe me favors around here.”

Widowmaker shrugged and stood up, following her out of the room.

After travelling through even more of the cramped corridors (Widowmaker wondered if they were actually going in circles), the pair finally arrived at a large, ominous-looking set of blast doors, flanked by two guards, equipped with Kevlar and assault rifles, though they were bypassed easily with Tracer’s approach and a brief display of her own ID card, though they eyed Widowmaker suspiciously.

 _“As they should.”_ She thought to herself, though they did not protest as the pair exited the Overwatch bunker.

It was already late into the day, at the waning hours of twilight, it seemed, as they stepped out into civilization once again. The bunker itself was well-hidden, located with what Widowmaker assumed was an abandoned subway tunnel, with holes in the ceiling and walls of the tunnel giving away the time of day outside.

Tracer was nonplussed about this and walked without care, causing Widowmaker to hurry and catch up to her, as she had evidently been too lost in her own thoughts to notice.

“We’ll be there in no time.” Tracer assured her, briefly tossing a look over her shoulder as the pair walked about the subway tunnels and upwards into the surface world once more.

Widowmaker followed her all the way through the winding streets past King’s Row once again (a brief shiver went through her spine as they passed a familiar hotel, though to be fair, it was quite cold out), through several more alleyways, and finally arriving at the address that Widowmaker knew quite well at this point: Tracer’s flat.

Ascending the stairs, Widowmaker was mostly amused that there wasn’t a crime scene investigation occurring at least somewhere nearby, considering that there had been a full-blown firefight here not even twenty-four hours prior, though she supposed that with the combined influence of Overwatch and Talon, the public knowledge of such an event was controlled quite well.

A brief flicker of apprehension overtook her, as she followed Tracer up the specific suite number, when she considered her situation. Though she was undeniably walking on cloud nine at the moment, being able to fuck such a beautiful woman more or less for an entire day, at some point, Talon would return, most likely without warning.

“Oi, get inside. It’s cold out, innit?”

But as the warmth of Tracer’s breath on her ear brought her out of her reverie, Widowmaker discarded such thoughts for now. For now, it was time to take a well-deserved shower, and later, to have a crack at Tracer’s girlfriend. And/or Tracer herself, depending on what happens.

She could not help but kiss Tracer at that moment, a distinct feeling of surreality washing over her as she considered that not even a day ago, they had been enemies.

Tracer reciprocated, of course. The feeling was good. Her lips were soft and welcoming, as always, not an imperfection about them.

But now, for the shower.

-

Widowmaker stepped into the surprisingly spacious bathroom, marveling at how remarkably aesthetic the marble tiling was, and was most likely going to ogle the entire thing until Tracer slunk behind her and planted a soft kiss on her neck. Her lips were warm against her cold skin, prompting Widowmaker to jump a little before moving to turn around and reciprocate. Before long, Tracer led her by the hand into the shower proper.

With a quick turn of the handle, the infinite satisfaction of warm water flowed over her skin, baptizing her in its relaxing aura. Widowmaker felt as though she were in heaven, taking several moments just to bask in the splendor.

Surprisingly, the pair managed to more or less shower in relative silence without interruption, though infrequently Tracer took the opportunity to cop a feel of Widowmaker’s breast and had even helped her shampoo her rather long hair.

Once the actual cleaning process was concluded, Widowmaker took a few further moments to simply feel the warmth of the water cascading over her shoulders.

 _“Mon Dieu, what a feeling!”_ She thought to herself, and, all at once, overcome by a sudden emotion, seized Tracer by the shoulders and kissed her, square on the lips. Though she could not precisely identify the significance of this, Widowmaker felt confident that it was just something that she _ought_ to do. Tracer was, understandably, very in favor of this idea as well.

After parting, the pair affixed towels to themselves from outside the shower to begin drying off.

As Widowmaker rubbed herself down (with Tracer’s giggling assistance), she wrapped the towel around her midsection and located the hair-dryer to solve the dampness of her hair. As she nearly finished this, Tracer swatted her playfully on the ass (Widowmaker merely snorted to herself) and walked out of the room wearing a towel of her own, presumably to greet Emily whenever she arrived.

As she finished up, she stepped outside, careful to make sure to only do so after having dried herself completely. A serious pet peeve of hers was getting the carpet wet in her own chateau and she could scarcely bear it if she did the same _in someone else’s_ home.

Tracer was on the mobile, though she grinned when she saw Widowmaker still without something covering her top. She momentarily muted it by pressing it against her chin, addressing Widowmaker directly.

“Oi, you want pizza?”

Widowmaker nodded, distracted, as she was still looking for at least a shirt to wear. It wasn’t that she did not feel comfortable baring her breasts to the world (far from it, if she was in Tracer’s company), but something felt odd to be introduced to Lena’s girlfriend wearing only a towel. Quite risqué, in fact.

On that note, Tracer again proved to be the telepath and gestured to a laundry hamper near the bedroom, prompting Widowmaker to walk over to it. Unfortunately, she was rather tall compared to Tracer and Emily, and as it turned out, Tracer’s shirts didn’t quite fit as well as one could hope. She felt that she looked somewhat ridiculous with a shirt obviously several sizes too small, but there was little she could do at the moment. And these pants were just not her color _at all_.

When she returned to the front room, Tracer spared her a look of giggling amusement before resuming her conversation, presumably with Emily, on the mobile. Widowmaker elected to sit on the couch and wait.

Fortunately, she had not the time to wait too long, as Tracer’s conversation concluded shortly afterwards.

“She’ll be here in a bit, don’t ya worry.” Tracer said, addressing Widowmaker suddenly.

“You convinced her already?”

“She _really_ likes shagging, trust me.”

Widowmaker could believe that, though she was, as always, just amazed at how much had changed about herself in just a few days. Regardless, she and Tracer would soon have a guest, and with the pizza delivery arriving shortly afterwards, they began to devour it soon enough.

Widowmaker was, after all the excitement of the day, rather ravenous.

-some time later-

Emily had arrived within the hour and Widowmaker’s first impressions of her were quite positive. Though there was the expected mild riffing of the fact that Widowmaker’s skin was blue (Emily had simply called her the alien girl with a cock at first), Widowmaker had found that she was rather easy-going. An admirable quality to balance out Tracer’s more whimsical tendencies, she supposed.

Dinner had also gone well, as the pizza proved an ample distraction to make small-talk and avoid any serious conversation involving Overwatch, Talon, or any assassin-related business. Widowmaker found the Irishwoman to be, well, rather ravishing, herself.

Luscious red hair, a youthful face, and an accent to die for.

 _“And those legs…”_ Widowmaker thought to herself as the night grew onward.

Approximately an hour later, talking turned to flirting, and flirting turned to kissing.

Widowmaker admitted one thing: while she obviously had a large preference for Lena, Emily was no slouch in the snogging department either.

The trio stumbled into the bedroom between kisses, with Widowmaker being the first to speak.

“I cannot imagine how Lena put you up to this.”

“Well it’s not e’ery day ya get to see a feckin Frenchie with a huge knob on ‘er, is it?”

“I suppose so.”

“You can ‘spose all you want. If you’re anything as good as I’ve ‘eard, this’ll be a helluva show.”

Widowmaker was flattered, though she wondered what the extent of Lena’s information to Emily was. It was unlikely that Emily could fully grasp the true “depth” of the task at present without taking matters into her own hands, literally.

“What I mean is, aren’t you both, well, lesbians?”

Emily looked amused.

“You’ve got tits, don’t ya? A big prick’s got nothin’ on that arse of yours neither.”

“Fair enough.” Widowmaker mused. Truly, it mattered little to her. A willing woman was a willing woman, after all.

“But I will warn you, many people-“

“Aw, quit your yammerin’ and take yer pants off.”

Widowmaker shut up and complied, as she was mostly already painfully hard and wanted to get to the fun part soon enough. She sat on the bed, quickly moving to unfasten a pair of Tracer’s pants that she had been wearing.

“I just want to see what all the fuss is abo- Jesus feckin’ Christ!”

Widowmaker had to again stifle a laugh. The Irish woman beneath her was, like the others, woefully unprepared for the reveal of a titanic penis. Wide-eyed and slackjawed, everything about Emily’s posture betrayed her complete shock at the massive specimen of pseudo-masculine might that she had just encountered. Widowmaker’s cock flopped out of her pants with a heave and a shove, exposed now to the air and thoroughly throbbing with anticipation. Tracer’s dirty talk had gotten her hot and bothered, it seemed.

 _“That will never get old, will it?”_ Widowmaker wondered to herself, briefly, before returning her gaze to the buxom Irish woman before her.

“You some kind of escaped experiment or somethin’?” Emily spoke in disbelief, clearly awed by the otherworldly sight.

“Non, I am just as human as you are.” Widowmaker replied, though she was still beside herself with amusement.

“Don’t worry luv, I’m right with ya!” Tracer had dropped down to her knees as well, kneeling beside Emily and wrapping a reassuring arm about her shoulder. Emily seemed to relax, at least for a moment, at this action, and turned her attention back to the gargantuan cock.

“I’ve shagged some mighty ‘uge ones, y’know, but nothin’ like this.” She regained her composure and looked up at Widowmaker. “Y’like blowjobs, Frenchie?”

Widowmaker nodded enthusiastically.

“Feckin’ shite, I figured. I dunno if it’s even possible to fit this in my mouth.”

Tracer blanched. Widowmaker could assume what she was thinking about just now.

“Y-yeah, it’s pretty hard.” Lena said, quietly.

“Y’can say that again. Hard as a feckin’ rock.” Emily was quicker on the uptake for her innuendos, though, it seemed, and reached out a tentative hand to feel up the shaft of Widowmaker’s cock.

An electrochemical feeling of softness ran through Widowmaker’s mind, a sudden feeling of desire for this Irish woman. And goddammit, Tracer’s continual teasing has made Widowmaker impatient.

“Good feckin’ lord, how the hell’d you get this thing anyway? Aliens?”

Widowmaker shrugged.

“Long story.”

Emily merely guffawed in display. “Nah, long feckin’ prick. All the same though, I probably wouldn’t believe ya if you were tellin’ the truth.”

“Don’t think about it too hard.” Lena offered helpfully, still taken by the image of Emily caressing the massive slab of uncompromising meat before her.

“Yeah, yeah, I hear ya, but how’m I s’posed to-“

“I’ll help you out, alright?” Tracer said, very quickly, almost too quickly, and Widowmaker could not help but notice how furiously her lower hand was working beneath the seat of her own pants. Perhaps she was more into this than Widowmaker had initially realized?

Not that she was complaining, of course.

“Well, alright then.” Emily said, reaching out with both hands, starting at the base of the monster in front of her.

With a definitive air of bravery, Emily opened her mouth wide and placed it around the crown of Widowmaker’s cock, determined to succeed despite the unsurmountable task. And she would have likely failed, as Tracer had, had Tracer not been prepared for this very outcome.

With a hand on the back of Emily’s head, she half-pushed, half-dragged Emily along the length of Widowmaker’s cock, forcing her to take it deep into her throat whether or not she had explicitly been prepared for such a thing.

The ensuing squelching sound was unbearably arousing to Widowmaker, who noted with an obscene delight the way that her cock-bulge stood out within Emily’s neck.

“That’s right, swallow her cock!” Tracer cooed, clearly beside herself with this idea. Widowmaker could not agree more.

Emily, for her part, seemed to take this in stride, as she (mostly) retained eye-contact with Widowmaker as she tried to steady herself into a predictive rhythm, though Tracer’s overzealous “help” was not really assisting in that endeavor.

Widowmaker had to assume Emily simply had no gag reflex, as she was almost entirely encased within Emily’s esophagus before too long, her girth completely encapsulated within a delicious tightness.

“Hell yeah! Nice and fuckin’ deep!” Tracer said, her own voice low and clearly aroused.

Finally! Fully hilted, Widowmaker let out a contented moan. In truth, she was impressed. Emily had done exceptionally well for her first try, but more importantly, Widowmaker could now rock her hips back and forth to further savor the wet hole in front of her.

“There you go, Amé, now fuck her face!”

That was all the encouragement Widowmaker needed. She steadied her hand on the back of Emily’s head, gripping her hair as a makeshift handle, who looked up at her with an expression of absolute lust.

There was no time left for mercy.

Widowmaker began throatfucking the Irishwoman beneath her, thrusting her cock back and forth, in and out, rapidly exiting and re-entering the warm fuckhole that was attached to Emily’s face.

“Ahhh…” Widowmaker moaned to herself at the feeling of tightness becoming that much more maddening, amid the heavenly sounds of Emily trying (and failing, mostly) to stymy the gags and sputtering as she fought to keep her head above water. Widowmaker would have to apologize later for fucking her throat raw, but for the moment, such regrets _very_ far from her mind. All that she could think of was driving her monstrous cock as deep as she could, as quickly as possible.

And all at once, Widowmaker threw her head back and screamed rather inelegantly, the orgasmic thrill proving to be wild and thoroughly uncontrollable. Her balls tensed and squeezed as her cock began to fire off great ropes of cum into Emily’s esophagus, with the woman in question suddenly attempting to swallow as much as she could, lest she choke.

On Widowmaker’s right, Tracer was furiously trying to get herself off, masturbating with both hands now as she gazed on in a mixture of fascination and undisguised lust, her own moans signaling that she was aroused by all of this by proxy quite well.

In total, Widowmaker had held Emily’s head nuzzled against her pelvis for around forty-five seconds before the rocket blasts from her cock had begun to subside, in which she gradually relaxed her grip, mostly as she felt a sudden surge of sexual satisfaction overtake her.

After the torrential rush of cum into her throat, Emily looked a bit out of it. Exhausted, really, though Widowmaker could scarcely blame her. Sometimes even Sombra couldn’t handle her when she got this worked up.

Withdrawing her saliva-soaked cock from Emily’s face with a slow, squelching, schlorping sound, Widowmaker leaned back on the bed, feeling immensely relieved as an audible ‘pop’ indicated the exit of the delirious tightness. Like a pressure valve that had seen its weekly maintenance check attended to.

Until she looked down, that is.

“Blimey, Amé, you’re _still_ hard?” Tracer noticed as well, it seemed.

“What, don’t think you can keep up with me?” She laughed.

“’Aven’t said anything of the sort.”

With that declaration, Tracer moved away from Emily’s still rapidly-breathing form and presented her magnificently plump arse to Widowmaker’s view, in the universal positon on all fours that said “Fuck me sideways!” Widowmaker knew this position all too well.

“I’m fuckin’ dyin’ over here. C’mon!”

Widowmaker glanced over her shoulder at Emily’s seemingly lifeless body, though to her credit she managed to give Widowmaker a shaky thumbs-up. Assuming that was the best sign of confirmation she was going to get, Widowmaker turned her attention back to the buxom British woman with the stupendous ass.

“I thought you said that you didn’t want to walk funny after I-“

“Fuckin’ jam it in already Amé!”

Though she was barely conscious, Emily gave a short, amused laugh. Widowmaker herself was thoroughly entertained by Lena’s enthusiasm, and her incensed command would have to do as a “waiver” of sorts to signify that she could not possibly be upset with Widowmaker if she indeed could not walk properly come tomorrow morning.

Widowmaker knew for herself that she would greatly enjoy this.

There was little resistance to her entry, it seemed, as Tracer had already lubed herself up quite nicely on her own.

“F-fuck! It’s so big!”

Widowmaker was able to slide herself inside with minimal effort, a wonderfully simple change of pace from the almost excruciating tightness of Emily’s throat just a few minutes ago. She took this as a sign that Tracer had been raring to have another go at her for a while now.

One-fourth of that monstrous appendage inside, and Widowmaker already felt the glorious feeling of satisfaction begin to come again.

“Ooohh, yeah luv, that’s it.”

Even with half of her cock buried within Tracer’s body, Widowmaker found it extremely difficult to retain rational, complicated thoughts. There was an instinct within her to drain herself dry in this woman, and her willpower to resist that biological imperative was depleting rapidly.

“Amé, you’re so fuckin’ deep!”

At last, Widowmaker had sheathed her sword to the hilt, her balls clapping against Tracer’s ample ass as she did so.

What a marvelous feeling it was, to be balls-deep inside Tracer’s buxom body. Now of course, this is the part where Widowmaker was most exicted, since now she gets to move and _fuck_ to her heart’s content. It might be true that most sexual encounters are, at their core, are a case of animals rutting, but be that as it may, Widowmaker was going to fully enjoy this carnal pleasure to its maximum extent.

Tracer, however, was clearly having the time of her life, trying her best to gyrate her hips in time with Widowmaker’s thrusts to meet them halfway, though it was rather obvious that she was having difficulty in concentrating on that when the brain-blasting pleasure was threatening to override all other primary functions, this progress belied by the increasing volume of her moans of satisfaction.

“Oh, bloody ‘ell! C’mon, Amélie, fuck me with your fuckin’ big dick!”

 _“She’ll wish she hadn’t said that.”_ Widowmaker thought briefly, before the delirious tightness of the cunt in front of her overrode any other mental faculties. The tempo increased drastically as the pair raced faster and faster towards the finish line.

Yesterday, when Tracer had been in control, control her own riding like one of those American cowgirls, it had been at her discretion what the speed of their fucking was. But now, Widowmaker was the one at the helm, the one to determine what course to take. And she had long since decided that if a deep dicking was what Tracer wanted, a deep dicking was what she was going to get.

Tracer’s body shook with the impact of the cock slamming home as fast as Widowmaker could muster, her plump derriere jiggling in a most lewd fashion upon collision with Widowmaker’s hips. Gripping the sheets beneath her, Tracer did her best to simply hold on, while Widowmaker herself was hypnotized by the sensual sway that all of this activity was having on Tracer’s beautiful ass.

They had a mind of their own, it seemed, from the way they bounced. Each impact sent a reverberation of jiggling across them. It was nothing like Widowmaker had ever seen: endlessly captivating, and _really, really fucking hot_.

She was nearing the end of her rope, she knew, when suddenly…

“GOD, AMÉ, FUCKIN’ WRECK ME!”

…

 _“Putain de bordel de merde!”_ Widowmaker had one last exclamation of surprise in her mental capacities before the inevitable orgasm ripped through her, her furiously throbbing cock constricted by the walls within Tracer that she slid in and out of. The cascading ecstasy took hold of her, causing her to bottom out as hard as she could within Tracer’s cunt, blasting her seminal payload with as much force as she could muster.

She rammed Tracer’s hole from behind, her balls slapping fiercely against the body of her lover as her cock throbbed, pulsated, riveting its discharge, painting Tracer’s inner walls as white as could be. The feeling of ultimate satisfaction overtook her as her cock, fully hilted, was glorious.

Tracer, to her part, threw her head back, her eyes rolled upward, similarly overwhelmed by mind-numbing pleasure. She had no words for this expression, as merely a triumphant cry of ecstasy was all that could be uttered.

Once the cannon-blasts of cascading cum had stopped their barrage of her womb, Tracer gradually extricated herself from Widowmaker’s cock, now finally softening from the strenuous activity it had endured, and moved, with great difficulty, to lounge by Widowmaker’s side.

They were both breathing heavily, exhausted, yet ultimately extremely satisfied.

Sensing this rush of emotions (among other things), Emily even made her off the floor and collapsed onto the bed with the pair, laying down by Tracer, on the side opposite of Widowmaker.

“A… Amélie…” Tracer began, short of breath, but turning her head to face her lover. Or one of them, at least. Her face flushed, her body trembling, drenched in sweat, and her chest heaving furiously from the excitement, though Widowmaker thought she looked just as beautiful as ever, if not more so.

That goddamn smile, too. If Widowmaker had not been so tired, she might’ve had it in her to go another round just for that smile alone.

“That was…” Tracer supplied, before Widowmaker kissed her, and finished her sentence.

“Amazing?”

Tracer nodded, slowly, but surely, before resting her back against the bedsheet.

Emily, on the other side of her, carefully massaged Tracer’s back.

“Ya did good, Frenchie. Tired me right out.” Emily chuckled, seemingly satisfied herself.

Widowmaker let her own head lie backwards, looking up at the ceiling of the room, thinking about nothing in particular, letting her feelings gradually dissipate as the afterglow of such a wonderful orgasm finally wore off.

She could definitely get used to this, she thought, as her eyes closed and sleep began to creep into her mind.

-in a secluded room at the Talon Headquarters-

“Dios mío!”

With a furious cry of ecstasy, Sombra rode out the remainder of her orgasm from her chair, situated behind the desk with all her surveillance equipment adorning it. The young Overwatch agent, one Lena Oxton, was surprisingly sloppy about her own abode, and slipping a few hidden cameras had been much easier than Sombra had anticipated during the commotion with her French colleague. Or rather, ex-colleague.

She had been observing many things in her time, both before and during her tenure with Talon, but nothing had compared to this yet. Widowmaker, the magnificent and sensual futa that she was, just doubleteamed an Overwatch agent and her girlfriend, and it was hot as fuck.

The vivacious tempo concluded, and her chair thoroughly saturated with her own excitement, Sombra allowed herself a lazy, satisfied smile.

All doubts of letting Widowmaker walk away from Talon unscathed were destroyed, single-handedly (metaphorically speaking, since Sombra was a two-hander when it came to her own affairs), by this captured video.

 _So_ fucking worth it.

But moreover, Sombra was _very_ interested in what Widowmaker would do next. And _who_. Her body twitched at the mere thought of getting more action to witness and she could not wait to see what Widowmaker would get up to.


	5. Une Caresse (ft. Sombra, Tracer, & Emily)

Chapter V – Une Caresse

Morning came abruptly, and with it, the voice of Emily, Lena’s _other_ girlfriend.

“Right then, you’re awake. Wanted to talk to ya, y’see.”

Widowmaker found the voice an intrusion to her natural slumber, though she supposed that she was not in the position to complain. After all, there were in few in number that could fuck _both_ of these gorgeous women, let alone wake up to them in the morning.

“What is this about?” She asked.

Emily gave her a distinct look of “Don’t bullshit me”, or whatever the equivalent was in Irish expressions, in Widowmaker’s estimation.

“Yer a bloody terrorist, y’know? Fighting against the same organization Lena’s a part of. Why you suddenly shagging?”

“I’m not going to hurt her. I have left Talon.”

“Aye, I figured as much. Y’haven’t killed her in her sleep like an actual widowmaker, have ya?”

“She is a good person, and I could not bring myself to try and harm her.”

“Really? An assassin with a fecking conscience? That’s a new one if I’ve ever heard it.”

“You do not have to believe me.”

“I do, because Lena does. Just don’t try anything, or you’ll regret it.”

Widowmaker gave her an incredulous look.

“Bloody hell, I might not be a feckin’ supervillain like you are, but I can still kick yer arse if I get in the mood to.”

Widowmaker raised her arms in a placating gesture, for as amusing as it was to call Emily’s bluff, she truly did not want any trouble with the fiery woman, even if it would probably not endanger her life in the slightest.

“I will not. Lena has put her trust in me and I will keep it.”

“Aye, so she has.” Emily said, concluding that part of the discussion.

They were silent for a moment, letting the tranquil air settle for a bit longer.

“I ‘spose Lena was already in danger, and if they’re gunning for you too, you’ll be right proper bedfellows, eh? Literally, I reckon.” Emily spoke up again a while later, looking out of the balcony window into the streets, where morning was shining through quite brilliantly at present.

“Just so we understand each other, you’re still alright with all of this?” Widowmaker asked, still extremely curious.

“You make her happy, I can see that. And I can still bloody well make her happy too. Do you want to be the one to make her choose between the two of us?”

Widowmaker shook her head.

“And especially when you’re such a helluva good shag. I can admit that.”

“Well that’s-“

“Ya can’t tell me that’s not a feckin’ good reason for her reaction, y’know. She’s just as much a carnivore as the next bloke for a tall French stunner like you.”

“I did not mean to come here and ruin your relationship.”

“Human feckin’ nature to be jealous, ain’t it? But I reckon a prick like yours has its own problems, right? Not all sunshine and roses?”

“You could say that.”

“Aye, and I did say it. And as long as I get a chance to snog her too, I won’t complain about you being here.”

“Of course.”

“Jaysus, this is like some kind of fecking harem shite now, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it is.”

“Could be worse. You could be ugly.”

Widowmaker had to laugh at that, despite the absurdity of this conversation.

“You are quite attractive yourself.” She complimented the redhead with courtesy, though Emily was having none of it.

“Oh fuck off with that polite gobshite, we both know ye like my feckin’ tits like a bloke. Not t’ say that’s a bad thing, ‘course.”

Widowmaker simply grinned. Catching the mood, Emily returned the smirk and closed the distance, capturing Widowmaker’s lips with her own while feeling up her cock with her hands, which had already begun its predictable course within her grasp, erecting itself once more.

Allowing a simple sigh of contentment, Widowmaker relaxed into her grip. She had noticed, all of the sudden, that Emily had legs that went _all_ the way up, and she rather liked that idea.

“Now, before I jerk ya off, I got one last question.”

“Hmmm?”

With immense seriousness, perhaps too much, Emily looked up at Widowmaker as her hands continued to masturbate her monstrous cock.

“Ya shooting blanks with this fecking cannon? Nobody’s getting’ knocked up?”

“Oui, I am infertile, as a result of the-“

“Well that’s a bloody relief, ‘cause I want ye to fuck me like a brasser.” Emily interrupted, apparently hearing all she had wanted to, as she positioned herself such that her body was right above the head of Widowmaker’s now-thoroughly-engorged cock.

“Can ye do that? Shag me right on this feckin’ windowsill?”

Widowmaker said nothing, merely nodding, grabbing Emily by the hips in response.

She smiled to herself as she began to thrust into Emily, seeing her writhe as she took the prodigious cock into her, and summarily hearing her moans of pleasure. The angle was a bit more strenuous than she would normally like, but the passion with which Emily bounced her hips in time to the thrusts was rather hypnotic, if she were to be honest.

It was going to be a good day once Lena woke up.

-Several weeks later-

After around a month of living with Lena and Emily, Widowmaker had begun to grow accustomed to the bustle of London, with its perpetually inclement weather, horrible food, and generally boisterous populace, though even despite this, she could appreciate it with the duo’s presence.

Obviously, she had a strong preference for Lena, as was their arrangement. While neither was a stranger to her bed (or her cock), it was an established, albeit unspoken, conclusion that it was not a three-way intersection of polyamory so much as it was a ménage à trois for one Lena Oxton.

Widowmaker essentially perceived herself as a rival for Lena’s affections against Emily, though their relationship was not so hostile to be openly referred to as such. Truthfully, Widowmaker was fond of Emily as well, obviously, though her heart, fractured as it was, had already set its sights singularly on Lena.

Matters of the heart and matters of the flesh differed considerably, however, and thus Widowmaker resolved any potential problems by sleeping with both of them, and in turn, Emily did not seem to mind sharing. This was an agreeable prospect for the both of them, and of course, Lena did not complain in the slightest.

There was something simply entrancing about waking up on the side of her former enemy, Widowmaker mused, and seeing her perfect form in the nude, usually with a scant ray of sunlight peering through a slightly-open window to illuminate her face, as though it were some ridiculous nineteenth-century painting.

The mindblowing sex hadn’t hurt either, of course.

-Later, at the shopping center-

Widowmaker had attended Emily and Lena later that morning as they had gone to the shopping center downtown to acquire more supplies, and since she had nothing else to do (nor was she opposed to following around her girlfriends), she’d obliged them, even though she was sure it would not be anything out of the ordinary. The makeup to hide the blue skin was something she was honestly used to at this point.

Without much to buy, nor much money to spend (as obviously Talon had control of what passed for her bank account), Widowmaker contented herself to sitting on a bench in a nice opening, at one of the few instances of decent English weather, taking time to eat a sandwich as she simply watched people pass by.

At some point, however, she began to feel as though she was being watched. It was at first a very simply notion, something she dismissed as mere paranoia, but eventually it grew to an intensity that she found quite unnverving.

“¿Qué onda?”

All of a sudden, Widowmaker heard a voice that she should not have been able to hear. It was impossible, surely; she had been _so_ careful to hide everything-

“Relaaaax chequita, I’m not here to kill you.”

Widowmaker was internally panicking, trying to ascertain where Sombra’s voice could even be coming from. Had Talon arrived faster than she could have thought? Had Sombra come on her own? Had Widowmaker led Tracer into a trap by mistake?

“Sombra. Show yourself.” Widowmaker hissed, a curt, intense whisper, determined to not allow Lena, who was only a few meters away, currently bickering with Emily about some kind of scarf, and to overhear.

To her surprise, a hand connected with her shoulder. A familiar, lithe, albeit still powerful, hand.

Turning on her heel, Widowmaker found herself face-to-face with the hacker that she had been dreading contact with again, and for her part, Sombra was insufferably smug-looking about it. In her other, opposite hand, Sombra held her characteristic submachine gun, hidden rather well from onlookers by a small cloak of sorts, appearing to be a jacket that Sombra carried in her shoulder.

“What do you want, Sombra?” Widowmaker had to restrain from acting on her instincts, which of course were to recklessly try to strangle Sombra at the moment. Even if this was some kind of stupid joke (Widowmaker was no stranger to such things from her ex-comrade), now was _not_ the time for it.

“Whaaat, not happy to see me? I’m _really_ hurt, princesa.”

Widowmaker said nothing. While the odds were not in her favor, if she could move fast enough, one well-placed kick to Sombra’s side might be enough time to disarm her, but that was not a very optimistic strategy.

“Just chill out a bit, okay? Allll I want from you is a little talk. And, well, you know…” Her gaze darted down to Widowmaker’s crotch, prompting an exasperated groan from the Frenchwoman.

“You have a gun trained on me and you just want to talk? Are you serious?”

“Would you prefer it was Gabe here, instead of me?”

Widowmaker sighed.

“Make it quick. There’s a restroom that way.” Widowmaker gestured with a glance over her shoulder, to which Sombra looked satisfied. The pair walked out of the store as discreetly as possible, and for once, Widowmaker was glad that Sombra had not seen fit to bring some of her more punk hairstyles, the kind that stuck out in a crowd. This time, she had opted for a more natural brunette look.

Widowmaker might have even found it a bit cute if she wasn’t so fucking angry about it.

The gall that Sombra had to show up just to scare her (or get laid again, which was almost as annoying) was unbelievable, but it was as she had said: Widowmaker would not have been able to bargain with Reaper. Or Doomfist. Or any of them, really, save Sombra.

There was another thought at the back of her mind as well: was Sombra still with Talon? What was the extent of their knowledge on Widowmaker’s betrayal? Doubtless they had discovered it, even if Sombra had been true to her word and had not informed them (which Widowmaker had her own doubt for, anyways). It was clear, however: there was no place in England that Widowmaker could stay if she was to remain hidden.

She had let her guard down _this time_ , and she was incredibly fortunate that Sombra was no ordinary assassin. Really, she was just fucking horny.

The pair reached the restroom and thankfully it was entirely vacant. With this, Sombra moved the SMG back within the confines of her clothes (Widowmaker found it odd that security at this mall was so bad, but then again, perhaps Sombra _had_ done her homework here as well) and faced Widowmaker, that irritating expression still plastered on her face.

“So, how’s it been?”

“You damn well know how it’s been.”

“Wrong side of the bed today? Y’know, most people that leave Talon end up dead, not just a bit cranky.”

“I’m not most people, Sombra. You should know that by now.”

“Ooooh, trust me, I _do_ ,” Sombra cupped her breast through her shirt, closing the distance between them, “and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Her breath smelled good, as Widowmaker noted with continued annoyance. And her body was, as always, pretty damn nice too. While it was undoubtedly a waste of her time, time that she could be spending with Tracer, Widowmaker mused that this distraction might not be _completely_ worthless.

“So you just want to fuck, is that it?”

That damn Cheshire Cat grin.

“You know me princesa. I’m a carnivore. But I also stopped by to tell you something you might wanna hear.”

“And what might that be?”

“Talon’s pretty pissed at you, y’know? But they haven’t found you out yet.”

Widowmaker found it hard to believe. She had even returned (rather stupidly, in hindsight) to the metaphorical scene of the crime. Blinded by her lust, which, to be fair, was pretty justifiable, she had not anticipated any of this.

“And because I know you don’t believe me, here’s a little something to sweeten the deal.” She placed a USB into Widowmaker’s palm, evidently containing whatever she was talking about.

“Basically,” Sombra continued, “Moira’s pissed. Gabe’s pissed. Even Fist is pissed. They _reaaally_ don’t like the idea that your “conditioning” wore off, but a little help from _somebody_ is interfering with them being able to locate you.”

(Widowmaker noted that this _somebody_ was in reference to Sombra herself)

“Still, if you’d even listen to me, I’d say it would be a good idea to get the hell outta Dodge, y’know?” Sombra continued, gesticulating with her frantically-moving fingers.

“Assuming I even believe this, why are you helping me? What’s the catch?”

Sombra feigned a hurt look, some kind of pout that was too sinister to be cute.

“Catch? I’m not out to get you, I’m just out to get your cock, blueberry.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“If you saw that third leg the way I do, you’d get it too. Y’know, you’ve ruined even Bad Dragons for me by now.”

“I’m flattered. But why are you helping me? Are you seriously just doing this because you’re horny all the time?”

Sombra’s fingers danced around Widowmaker’s shoulder. All of a sudden, she was closer. And her lips were, to Widowmaker’s chagrin, looking quite inviting. Despite being substantially taller, she was drawn into Sombra’s presence.

“You make it sound like that’s some kind of bad thing, buuuuut, princesa, we both know you _really_ like me. And so does your little friend.”

Sombra had closed the distance, her breath now on Widowmaker’s ear, and her free hand had dropped to groping the bulge between Widowmaker’s legs, which, of course, had begun to harden already.

“Well, _little_. I’m sure you don’t hear that one very often.”

“If this is a trap, I’ll kill you.”

“You not been getting enough head from Tracer or something? Why so jumpy?” Sombra muttered, continuing to massage the growing cock-outline that was poised to escape its prison.

“You know we’re both international terrorists, right? And _you’re_ insane?”

“Thought you liked danger, amiga. Like you get off on the whole killing thing or some shit.”

“Just get my cock out already.”

“That’s the spirit!” Sombra enthusiastically agreed, working on freeing the monstrous python in question from its confines. With a hoist and a pull, the beast was freed, more than half-hard and still responding _very well_ to Sombra’s ministrations, before Widowmaker herself had already succumbed to the lust that was threatening to overtake her.

“Heeeyy there big boy. Miss me?”

The cock did not reply. Sombra was still grinning like a madwoman, however, looking up at Widowmaker as though to taunt her.

“I think he missed me.”

“Shut up.”

Sombra merely laughed, then turned her attention (and her mouth) to the towering mass of cock in front of her, lapping at it lightly with her tongue, bathing the crown of it with her touch. Below this, her hands busied themselves attending to the shaft or even the hanging pair of balls beneath it, intent, evidently, on at least showing Widowmaker a decent time.

For once, Widowmaker could agree to this.

There was something to be said for the absolutely staggering dimensions of penis at play, as Sombra was able to, with merely the crook of her neck, attempt to wrap her lips around the head of Widowmaker’s cock while simply standing against the wall of the room.

More than once, now, at this teasing, Widowmaker had resisted the urge to throw her head back and moan, as even she could not deny that this _did_ feel pretty damn good, but she refused in absolute terms to give Sombra any notice of satisfaction. She _did not_ deserve it.

In fact, she was rather enjoying herself before Sombra started to talk again.

_“Merde.”_

“Aaaand, chequita, I got you alllll figured out.” Sombra’s voice was whimsical as she lathered a few lascivious licks on Widowmaker’s luxorious length.

“How is that, pray tell?”

“The way I see it, you _really_ like it when you get to kill people. Even if you’re not an assassin and shit anymore after leaving Talon, you still like the hunt. And hunting for some big British ass to fuck is a pretty good hunt, don’t you think?” That damn smile never left her face.

“I thought Moira was the only faux-philosopher from that organization.” Widowmaker scowled.

“I can see you like it the same way, in your eyes. Eyes don’t lie, blueberry.” Sombra looked, impossibly, even more smug than usual, like she knew something Widowmaker didn’t.

And she fucking _hated_ that idea.

“Don’t _fucking_ call me that.” Widowmaker hissed.

“Oh, you don’t like it?”

“Shut up.” Widowmaker snarled.

“Make me.”

“You _know_ who you’re talking to, right?”

“Fuck yeah I do. That’s why I said it.”

There was an intense stare-down before Widowmaker’s hand enclosed in Sombra’s hair, roughly pulling it down, and Sombra’s head down with it, onto the crown of her cock.

A moan of obscene appreciation came from the woman below her, and Widowmaker went about the process of beginning to give Sombra the titfucking that she apparently so desperately wanted, though she had to concede that she would likely enjoy this as much as Sombra would.

Sombra possessed, after all, a non-insignificant amount of cleavage with which to thrust into, so it wasn’t like Widowmaker was doing her a one-sided favor, of course.

Thrusting between those breasts, Widowmaker attempted to distract herself, or at least she attempted to, before Sombra started talking, _again_ , and interrupting her attempt at self-stimulation.

“Admit it, I’ve got that British bitch beat.”

Widowmaker’s anger surged up again.

“And how is that?”

“You can’t go very hard on her, can you? Scared you’ll break her in half, probably.” Sombra pointed to herself, looking exceptionally smug. “I don’t have that problem.”

Widowmaker mused over this for a moment. Her cock twitched, sandwiched between two reasonably-sized breasts.

“I can be as rough as I want with you then, is that what you’re saying?”

Sombra nodded, an insufferable grin on her face. Widowmaker’s pupils dilated almost immediately as lust overtook her. There was something about Sombra’s annoying smirk that just drove her up the fucking wall, and she was sick of it.

No, she wasn’t going to take that anymore. Instead, she was going to take something else.

“Then I’m going to fuck your whore-face _raw_. Get on your fucking knees, _putain_.” She put as much acidic bite into that command as possible, and to her pleasure, it was executed exactly as intended.

For a split second, Widowmaker saw Sombra’s resolve falter, her eyes betraying surprise, even if it was a glimpse. But that glimpse was enough to make her hard enough to carry this through. She thought she might have been, perhaps, _too_ harsh, letting that animalistic nature of her lust escape without the finesse that she tried to cultivate, but with Sombra, truly, there were few limits to her thirst.

“Dios mio, I’ve missed you.”

Sombra complied with Widowmaker’s command immediately, however, and sunk to her knees, eyes dilated with unmistakable salaciousness, and a spare hand trailing Widowmaker’s thigh, dancing along her skin until it reached her engorged testicles. She gave them an affectionate squeeze, which spurred Widowmaker on further. She was going to _wreck_ this woman.

“And I missed when you weren’t fucking talking.”

“Ayy, at least let me get a brea-ammphh!” Widowmaker didn’t spare her a moment’s pause before shoving her cock into her mouth.

“ _I told you_ , you talk too much.”

“Phhhaaammmphh!” Sombra’s reply was completely unintelligible as the towering cock punctured her throat, sliding down as far as Widowmaker could push it, before she eventually bottomed out.

It was, of course, a completely heavenly feeling, sheathing herself and silencing Sombra simultaneously, enough that Widowmaker’s mood improved immediately.

Rather embarrassingly, she’d already endured much too much foreplay at Sombra’s hands (literally), and was quite close to finishing already. Though the talking was indeed annoying, it was worse to have blue(er) balls whilst being stroked, something that she did not want to make a habit of. This had, naturally, made her a little impatient.

With her mouth stretched around the incredible girth, Sombra attempted to rock her head slightly, something that reminded Widowmaker how utterly bizarre the woman was (or what she was into, really), but she wouldn’t look a gift whore in the mouth. Well, not exactly, anyways.

She began to skullfuck her former compatriot in earnest, driving her dick as belly-deep as possible, using the back of Sombra’s neck as a form of leverage to assist her in this. Sombra, for her part, was rather frantically masturbating herself, though predictably, she went at this with a frenzied, imprecise set of motions; she could not keep up with the thunderous pace that Widowmaker was moving at.

Eventually, as all things did, it had to come to an end: after what felt like an eternity (that in reality was only a few moments), she had hilted herself into Sombra’s esophageal passage once again, feeling the rush of orgasmic euphoria rip through her body, and with it, the cum-blasts that Sombra has coaxed out of her came with it.

Widowmaker did her best to hold Sombra in place as she discharged her entire balls-worth of seminal load, though she admitted that after the morning (and thus _several_ run-ins with Lena and Emily earlier), she had already felt a bit drained. Perhaps not the exact homecumming that Sombra had been expecting, but Widowmaker though it briefly fitting for how much she disliked this woman.

There was a distinct “Schloooorrrp” sound, of sorts, as Sombra was half-pushed / half-dragged off of Widowmaker’s cock, which was still twitching slightly, dribbling the rest of its payload, until Sombra relaxed a little, her breathing slowing significantly.

“Woooow, blueberry. You’re still pretty good at this.”

Obviously, Widowmaker wasn’t done yet. Not by a fucking long shot. She still had to wreck Sombra so bad that she wouldn’t be able to walk, and not just because that would be hot as hell, but because Widowmaker was still pissed at her for ruining her morning.

As it turned out, Sombra was a bit of a masochist in that regard.

Lowering her to the floor, Widowmaker positioned herself behind Sombra, letting her cock flop onto Sombra’s back for a moment while she moved her now-discarded clothes below her knees, since it would be rather uncomfortable to kneel on the tile floor.

Sombra, for her part, seemed to have noticed that the cock, when fully stretched out along her back, almost reached her shoulderblades, and looked behind her towards Widowmaker with a look of unmistakable anticipation.

“You’ve got me impatient, blueberry.”

Widowmaker merely scowled. Words were not enough to express her annoyance, so she would make do with actions.

And after steadying her cock with her hands, she rammed forward into Sombra’s tight asshole as hard as she could, relishing in the instant squeal from her “partner” as a result, along with the typical tight heat she expected.

“Fuuuuck yeah, amiga. That’s the shit.”

“You’re an insatiable slut, aren’t you?” Widowmaker had begun a proper tempo of thrusts at this point, focusing on trying to bottom out as often as possible so as to make Sombra cum first. Anything less would be admitting defeat, even if the sight of Sombra bouncing her sizable ass on Widowmaker’s cock alone was something to kill for.

“Mmmm, you know it chequita…” Her voice trailed off as the haze of raw, unfiltered lust overtook her, something that ruled words as obsolete in favor of ramming her ass back into Widowmaker’s pelvis in time with her thrusts.

While it was normally quite engaging to take the initiative when it came to these things, Widowmaker did admit that the way Sombra was moving her hips, gyrating them in time to the thrusts that came at her from behind, _was_ a damn fine sight, so she thought it best to simply let nature run its course.

This strategy appeared to be working just fine until Sombra kept talking a moment later, breaking Widowmaker’s concentration.

“Dios Mio, _yesss_. The only thing better than this is if there were two of you.”

Widowmaker did not even dignify that with a response.

“Could you- mmh, could you even imagine what it would be like to get spitroasted by that shit, chequita?”

“Obviously not.”

“Y-you’re missing out then. Hnngh, _fuck_ , right there!”’ She groaned a bit after a particularly deep thrust had almost buried Widowmaker’s cock to the hilt, but it was not enough to stem Widowmaker’s building aggravation with this infuriating woman.

Was it the smug way she carried herself? Was it the dynamic of power, of potential blackmail that she held over Widowmaker’s head? Whatever the reason, Widowmaker was _pissed_.

All at once, in the midst of their fucking, a sudden, intriguing thought occurred to Widowmaker, something that took her by surprise as she slammed her cock into Sombra’s asshole.

She had to act.

“Who is my bitch now, Sombra?”

“Wha-Ow!”

Widowmaker slapped her right ass cheek, interrupting her immediately. The cheek in question vibrated for a bit, proving to be a most erotic sight.

 _“One of the best ideas I’ve had yet.”_ Widowmaker thought to herself, before continuing to rail Sombra.

“I asked you a question, _putain_. Who. Is. My. Bitch?”

“I-I’m your bitch!”

“Really?”

“Fuck yeah, I’m your bitch!”

(Widowmaker was actually amazed that Sombra went along with that so easily, but she surmised that maybe she was into that kind of thing too.)

“And what does my bitch want?”

“I want you to -Ah!- fuck me hard! Fuck me with your fucking huge cock!”

“Then take it _all_.”

 _“Chingada madre!”_ Sombra screamed, briefly, before her words became mere moans, and her eyes rolled backwards, losing herself in her own ecstasy. Briefly, Widowmaker could only watch as her thrusts became more erratic and Sombra continued to writhe beneath her, her own hand never stopping its furious ministrations at her aching cunt.

It was just too much. All of this sensual scenery, and _finally_ getting to put Sombra in her place? A dream come true, like it was the natural order of things. Maybe it meant nothing in the long run, outside of this impromptu roleplay, but Widowmaker found it extremely satisfying nonetheless.

And then suddenly there were no more words for Widowmaker, as the rush had finally come back to her.

Slamming her hips as hard as she could, she rammed her cock deep within the over-lubricated fuck-prison it was currently contained in. All her anger, her lust, and her general bad mood seeped into the desire to _shut Sombra the fuck up_ , and Widowmaker noted with some satisfaction that Sombra was, naturally, not capable of forming coherent, annoying sentences if she was having the orgasm of her life.

That, and with Sombra’s ass bouncing against her like it had been, she had been approaching the end of her rope anyways. In truth, Widowmaker had always been frustrated that Sombra’s greatest asset, those juicy cheeks, had usually been tantalizingly close to Widowmaker’s cock during their assignments, but just enough out of reach to annoy her.

Honestly, it was probably another one of Sombra’s many provocations, wearing such skin-tight outfits like that on Talon’s assignments, but Widowmaker would not be deterred this time.

This time, to take Sombra so roughly from behind, like a hound taking a _bitch_ , would be a deeply-appreciated satisfaction. That, and coupled with Sombra moaning like a wanton whore, was enough to make Widowmaker lose her mind.

With a rather uncouth groan, Widowmaker let loose. Her swollen balls contracting, her cock spasming, and her own orgasm ripping through her body, a veritable blast of searing, sticky cum filling Sombra’s womb with every thrust.

Once her discharge had finally ended, Widowmaker shakily collapsed onto the floor beside Sombra’s near-comatose body (well, hyperbolically near-comatose), allowing herself a quick breather while her mind returned from cloud nine back to Earth.

 _“That was… fucking fantastic.”_ Widowmaker admitted to herself, though uncannily, not even a few moments later, her mind had already returned back to Lena. She and Emily were likely wondering where she had gotten off to.

She surveyed the aftermath of her “partner”, and the result was rather predictable: Sombra was a bit of a mess, covered in a mixture of her own fluids and Widowmaker’s cum, breathing heavily, her eyes partially glazed over, and a genuine, contented smile on her face. She’d had a fun time, clearly.

“Oh, _fuuuuuck_. That was _so_ worth it.” She muttered, still looking and sounding somewhat delirious.

“Hmph.” Widowmaker had nothing left to say, as their transaction had concluded.

She wordlessly regathered her clothes before stopping, briefly, to consider what Sombra might do next, if she was bluffing, or even outright lying to Widowmaker.

“I’ll be in touch.”

“I _knew_ you’d come around to it.”

Though her back was turned, Widowmaker could _hear_ the smugness in her voice, a palpable, nagging thing that still made her blood boil, but since she’d just gotten an amazing fuck out of it, she tolerated this.

“You’re still a whore.”

“Just for _you_ , blueberry, haha…” Her weak laughter trailed off as Widowmaker cleaned herself off (well, as much as she could), and left the room.

She was eager to rejoin her girlfriend(s), and went about searching for them immediately.

Widowmaker ended up waiting quite a while towards the entrance of the place before she managed to relocate her lovers, and by then, it was clear that at least one of them (her money was on Emily) had evidently gotten randy enough to make a move already, as the both of them were looking quite flushed as they greeted her.

Even Widowmaker had to admit that it was kinda hot, though they could scarcely act on any of these impulses in a public place.

“Wanna head back to the flat?” Lena asked, her voice betraying her own arousal already.

Widowmaker nodded. Tired as she might be, she could not turn down that offer in good conscience.

-Back at Lena’s flat-

They almost made it to the bedroom, but had at least finalized on the couch.

It did not take long before Tracer had established an excellent rhythm of rocking her hips back and forth to the beat of Widowmaker’s thrusts, matching them in speed and driving the giant, juicy derrière into Widowmaker’s pelvis at every opportunity.

” _Merde, that is so fucking hot.”_

In between bouts of “Ohhh…” and “Ah, fuck!”, it was clear that Lena herself was also enjoying this procedure, as on the one hand she was getting speared by Widowmaker from behind, and on the other she was passionately snogging her (other) girlfriend at the same time.

And of course for Widowmaker herself, seeing the two girls make out wasn’t that bad of a sight either.

She was about to get to the end of her rope, in fact, as this had been going for more than a few minutes, but she was to be interrupted quite abruptly very soon.

Suddenly, and without any possible conception of warning, the door to the flat emitted a most alarming sound: the sound of a lock being undone.

Everyone stopped dead in their tracks, utterly bewildered, and turned to face the door as two tall figures burst through it.

“Lena, we have an upda- OH FUCKING HELL!”

The one who had spoken was none other than Pharah, the tall, muscled Helix operative-turned-Overwatch agent, followed by Doctor Ziegler. And truly, the expressions on their face were nothing short of priceless, though Widowmaker herself could not blame them for this.

“Er-b-bloody hell Angie, don’tcha know to knock?” Lena was the first to respond, obviously quite embarrassed and flustered to be caught in such a compromising position.

Emily looked so amused that her effort to keep her laughter contained would soon fail, and Widowmaker, uncharacteristically, was simply so surprised that she her mind was blank. Truly, there was nothing she could even think of to say, as this had not remotely been on her radar.

 _“Gott in Himmel, Lena!”_ Doctor Ziegler exclaimed, sounding profoundly indignant for someone that _wasn’t_ caught redhanded (metaphorically speaking).

“Well you just burst in here and didn’t even knock, that’s what you get for it!” Lena complained back, though it was obvious her anger was mostly an attempt to conceal her sudden discomfort.

“You know what? Fuck it. I’m not dealing with this.” Pharah, apparently having resigned herself to defeat, simply spoke and turned to leave the flat.

At this action, her doctor companion could only stammer, immediately losing any composure she could have had in Pharah’s presence.

“W-what? Pharah, come back! You can’t just-!”

She turned back to the group as Emily burst into peals of laughter until she was red in the face, still completely naked, and still completely uncaring of this fact. Tracer was smiling too, though it appeared she refrained from laughing at the good doctor out of a sense of politeness.

Widowmaker no longer had the capacity to blush with the alterations to her body chemistry that Talon had made, but her natural isolationist tendencies did not make this a favorable situation, regardless, though she supposed that Doctor Ziegler was not very likely to gossip about this.

She separated from her lover, withdrawing her monstrous third leg and attempting to cover it with a towel from the nearby laundry hamper, though this too did not see fruition, as obviously with a still-raging erection, it was difficult to conceal. This too did not help Emily to stop laughing either.

“Y-you… You-“ Doctor Ziegler continued to stammer, though she had since stopped looking over her shoulder to see where Pharah had vanished to, and was more pointedly staring at Widowmaker. Or more aptly, the erection poorly hidden under a towel that was much too small.

 _“Doctors are still human, after all.”_ Widowmaker mused, briefly, before covering her breasts with her free arm.

“You obviously had a reason for coming her so quickly, Doctor Ziegler. What was it?” Widowmaker tried to keep her voice steady, despite the ridiculous breach of privacy.

“J-Ja, well, it was…” She trailed off again.

With the doctor herself now clearly flustered, a series of most impure thoughts began to circulate through Widowmaker’s mind, as she realized very suddenly that the Swiss woman was indeed very attractive. Well, she’d already realized that, but it had hit her just then very forcefully, as she had not really imagined the doctor would even _have_ a drive of a physical nature, let alone walk in on her while she was half-way lodged inside one of the doctor’s co-workers.

It was thus extremely distracting, as she had many impulsive visions of Doctor Ziegler flush with euphoria, much like Lena and Emily had been not even a few minutes ago. Such things were difficult to purge from her mind and equally straining was it to keep a calm disposition.

Eventually, the doctor regained her stability.

“W-well, ve had, well, Pharah and I, had come here to inform Lena and, y-you,” She gestured, very quickly, with her hand to Widowmaker’s general direction, snatching the occasional glance at the tent that was now calming down (slightly) from beneath the towel, “about some intelligence reports ve had received from a field agent.”

It seemed that getting her mind off of the current situation had improved the good doctor’s composure, as she continued with more of her typical professional cadence shortly thereafter.

“Talon has recently begun making moves again within this region, and we suspect that they are still searching for the two of you.”

Widowmaker’s mind suddenly flashed back to Sombra’s words earlier, at the marketplace, and with that recollection, she began to appreciate the gravity of the situation with much more clarity. Perhaps not even in the city with Overwatch’s new headquarters was she safe from Talon’s grasp.

However, this prompted her to contemplate her options for a moment, while Lena spoke up.

“They ‘aven’t give up yet? Persistent bastards.” Tracer said, speaking up.

At her profanity, the doctor frowned somewhat, as though she expected better of Lena. Widowmaker found this somewhat cute, though ignored it in favor of further thinking.

“We vould recommend that you leave England and hide somewhere safe until zis all blows over.” She concluded, without much room for debate.

“A curious way to get rid of me, good doctor.”

“Zat, and you endanger Lena and Emily,” Ziegler gave the two another look-over, her gaze lingering a second too long on Emily’s large breasts, as she continued “and ve cannot allow their safety to be jeopardized by your presence.”

“Oi, Angie, we’re not exactly defenseless around ‘ere, y’know?” Lena piped up indignantly.

“Lena, zis is not the time-“

“I say we go _with_ Amélie. Talon’ll have a much harder time of it getting all of us if we’re together, yeah?”

There was nothing immediately said to this. Widowmaker had not even considered the option, though she admitted mentally that it was quite intriguing. Perhaps _too_ convenient, but she was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“L-Lena, that’s- Ve can’t protect you-“

“I don’t _need_ it, Angie! That’s what I’ve been saying! I can handle myself right and proper, y’know.”

Defeated and without any more options, Ziegler’s shoulders sagged.

“Verstanden. I hope you know vhat you’re doing, Lena.”

“I do, and I’m sure Amé and Emily do too.”

Widowmaker nodded her assent while Emily simply smiled, though while this occurred, another thought came to Widowmaker’s mind, inspired mostly by her noticing of the doctor’s rather alluring curvature. Not even scrubs could hide those hips, of that she was certain.

“You could always join us, doctor, if you wish.”

“V-vhat? I-“ The doctor’s response was immediate, as though rehearsed, though as the words sounded off on their own, she appeared to actually consider the sentence more slowly.

“…Join you? The three of you?” She sounded extremely anxious about the prospect, though Widowmaker could not for the life of her determine why; the doctor was attractive enough. Surely this wasn’t the first of her escapades?

Widowmaker simply nodded in response, and Lena at least perked up immediately at the assent.

“C’mon Angie, it’s actually real good fun, promise!”

“Lena, I’ve _had sex before_. It is just that-“

Angela was quick to protest, but Lena was quicker to retort.

“C’moooon. Why not?”

“Lena! Zhat is quite unprofessional! And Fareeha would not approve whatsoever.”

Lena rolled her eyes.

“You _really_ think Pharah wouldn’t want to get a piece of this? Not even me?”

That seemed to provoke no further retaliation, as Ziegler simply sighed, an acknowledgement of something. Widowmaker sensed that she and Pharah had most likely had arguments about this exact subject before. She wondered which side was in favor and which was against, as a fleeting amused thought.

“Perhaps… it has crossed our minds.”

“Don’t be so embarrassed, Angie. This one right ‘ere,” Lena grasped Widowmaker’s cock in a quick gesture, making her groan at the sudden contact, “is the real deal, I promise ya.”

Angela, of course, observed the monstrous endowment with an undeniable hunger, despite her spoken misgivings. It was clear she was conflicted.

“I-I will speak with Fareeha.”

Lena looked incredibly smug, as though she already knew the inevitable answer.

“Suit yourself Angie.” She said, before wrapping both arms around her girlfriends and pulling them a bit closer, evidently still in the mood to fuck both of them.

Angela noticed this cue, of sorts, and pointedly turned to look away from them to make her exit, though, before she could do this completely, Widowmaker made sure to call out to her.

“I do not bite, doctor. Not unless Pharah wants it.”

This seemed to hasten her departure, though Emily gave a small giggle in response to this comment. As the door closed (quite rapidly, of note) and the good doctor disappeared from view, there was something of a pregnant silence in the wake, though before Widowmaker could wonder aloud as to what would happen next, Lena prodded her dick with a playful push.

“So, erm, a while ago we got interrupted.” Lena said, all at once.

Widowmaker’s mind instantly returned (along with her hard-on) to the scene that had started it all. She grinned at the thought.

“We did.”

Lena’s anticipation was palpable, exemplified by how she rapidly got back on all fours, wiggling her huge arse in front of Widowmaker in the universal position of “Take me now!”.

“You gonna bugger me orrrr- ohhh…” She moaned into Widowmaker’s kiss, arching her back, grasping against Widowmaker’s cheek. On their right, Emily was masturbating to the sight of it.

Widowmaker smiled to herself as she felt her cock sink into Tracer once again, that warm tightness enveloping her senses. Truly, this was a good day.

-On a flight to Annecy-

After spending a good portion of the day literally fucking around, Widowmaker figured (with a helpful dose of post-nut clarity) that Overwatch’s concerns over safety were likely much more true than she would realize, as loathe as she was to admit it.

Thus, a plan was conceived: Emily and Lena would accompany her via plane to Annecy, where they would then proceed to her château as a refuge. This would naturally rely on some element of subterfuge, and Widowmaker had proceeded to disguise herself as at least a non-blue-skinned individual once again to make it past airport security at Heathrow.

The flight was going pleasantly enough, actually. So much so that Widowmaker felt the whole experience as something that was quite surreal. If she had still been working with Talon, or perhaps if she had been more like her older self, prior to meeting Tracer, she would have felt paranoid that nothing bad had yet happened.

But now, she felt rather normal. At peace, even.

Widowmaker looked over to Tracer, who sat in the middle of the trio, with Emily on her right and Widowmaker in the window-seat to her left. She was currently taking a nap, as it were, and to the untrained eye, one would never assume that the person sleeping so casually on the plane was indeed one of Overwatch’s finest agents. And, Widowmaker mused, a helluva lay.

Truthfully, it _was_ a bit cute.

But Widowmaker had something of a mischievous streak at the moment, an impulse that she could not dissuade herself from acting on. Nudging Lena in the shoulder, she woke her.

“Lena. I have a serious question.”

“Eh? What?” Groggily, Lena responded after a moment’s delay.

“How do you fit into the seat if your butt is so big?”

“Wha- It’s not- Are you calling me fat?”

“Non, I was going to say, if you cannot use yours, you should share mine.”

“Wot-“

Widowmaker reached over and pinched the arse in question, causing Tracer to yelp (as quietly as she could muster, in the interests of not arousing suspicion from any onlookers) while squirming in her seat. Emily was still passed out in her own chair, it seemed.

“You can’t do that, it’s not bloody fair!”

Widowmaker laughed softly, to which Tracer simply huffed in response.

A few moments passed in terse silence, before Tracer leaned over and copped a feel of Widowmaker’s own erogenous area, cupping her testicles from behind, causing Widowmaker herself to jump a little, letting out an uncharacteristic yelp of surprise.

“Hey, you ever joined the mile high club?”

“Lena, please. We’re on a plane.”

 _“I know that.”_ Tracer whispered, accusatory and indignant.

“Does Overwatch cover expenses if anyone sees us? _Especially_ us? _On a public plane?_ ”

“That’s not a “no”.”

“Correct, it is a “Wait until we get to the château” answer.”

“That’s not fair. You were getting me all hot and bothered for no reason?”

“There was a reason. It was very funny.”

“Oh sod off.”

Widowmaker giggled to herself, and then stopped suddenly, wondering why she just did that.

She was _Widowmaker_. The ex-Talon assassin. She did _not_ just giggle.

But indeed, upon recollection, she did. And that was extremely mysterious and unusual. Surely it was Lena’s fault for being so cute.

Lena herself had stopped paying attention, as she had turned to address a flight attendant for a snack, which thankfully allowed Widowmaker a moment to contemplate what had just happened.

In truth, Lena made her feel quite at ease with, well, just about everything. Something as simple as making stupid jokes. No-one at Talon had made her feel like that, certainly. Unexpected, but not unwelcome.

She supposed that further teasing from Lena would be in bad taste (for now) and decided that perhaps a brief nap would not be out of order after all.

Widowmaker, for once, had a rather pleasant time of it, drifting off to sleep momentarily. It was only a brief passage of time before one of the flight attendants’ voice rang out throughout the cabin, signaling that it was time to depart the aircraft.

All throughout the journey from the airport to the lake where the château was located, Widowmaker could not help but feel optimistic, despite Sombra’s appearance earlier that day. It was as though she was in a dream, a dream in which she finally could rest for a bit, even for just a moment, before heading back out into the “real world”.

With Lena and Emily at her side, she was quite reassured, and frankly, she could not wait to pound both of them into the bedsheets once they arrived at their destination.

-A short while later-

They arrived at the [chateau] not too long afterwards, having chartered a small boat that Overwatch had provided for their use to access the island that the [chateau] sat on.

Emily and Lena (though Lena especially) were both quite impressed with the premises and Widowmaker decided then to give them an impromptu tour, culminating in a walk to the kitchen, mostly, as she assumed that the others (including herself, really) needed something of sustenance after somewhat of a long day.

After a much-needed dinner (Widowmaker was not averse to cooking for her guests), they had taken to lounging about in the kitchen for a while, merely making small talk.

“Y’got any good wine around?” Emily’s voice called out from behind a cabinet somewhere.

“Oui, there is a cellar beneath the kitchen.” Widowmaker answered, once she could locate the source of the noise.

“Bloody brilliant.”

Lena laughed a bit.

“What, you planning to get plastered?”

“Absolutely fecking shitfaced. ‘Bout time, too.”

“’Bout time for what?”

“England’s got shite booze and you feckin’ know it.”

Lena rolled her eyes, to Widowmaker’s amusement. Emily disappeared within the wine cellar, evidently set for the evening with her newest interest, leaving Lena and Widowmaker alone within the kitchen.

Lena moved about the kitchen, through the dining room, and eventually onto a patio of sorts. She appeared to just take in the sights like one would at some kind of amusement park, and Widowmaker supposed that few were privy to what a place like this might actually look like. After all, not many adopted the archaic trappings of the late nineteenth century anymore.

The lake was quite beautiful out now, with twilight beginning to overtake the afternoon. Widowmaker did not usually notice it, and perhaps this discovery was because of Tracer’s presence. She did not know.

“Say, who’s this “Danielle Guillard”? I thought you lived alone.” Lena’s voice interrupted her thoughts, and she turned over her shoulder to face where she heard it from. Evidently, Lena had found one of the several laptops scattered about the building, with this particular one resting on a small coffee table sitting atop the patio.

 _“Merde. I shouldn’t have left it outside.”_ She thought, briefly, before answering Lena’s question.

“I do. Or, I _did_ , before now. That name, however, is an alias for travel purposes.”

“… I like Amélie better.”

“As do I, but I can’t walk around being called that in public, now can I?”

“Fair enough.”

There was a lull in the conversation afterwards in which neither spoke, instead preferring to gaze out over the lake, over the railing that separated them from their surroundings. The château was on an island, so naturally, the boat they had used was stowed away safely.

It was likely that Talon would not think to look here, and even if they did, it would be highly unlikely that they could simply infiltrate the building while simultaneously escaping notice.

While Widowmaker was contemplating returning inside to get some of the wine herself, Tracer’s voice roused her from her thoughts again.

“Do you regret being in Talon? Killing those people?”

Widowmaker did not have an immediate answer. Not that she had not been expecting a question like that, but that with the horizon waning even still, she was in a rather odd mood.

“Those are two different questions.”

“And?”

“I do regret being associated with Talon. I used them as they used me: I wanted a purpose and a means to live and to feel. I was dead without the ability to inflict death on others. But Talon themselves were very much a manipulative group, O’Deorain especially. I suspect that they would have tired of me eventually, likely having me killed in my sleep or some such thing.”

“What about the people you killed? Don’t you feel like that’s not quite right?”

Widowmaker was rather impressed Tracer was unapologetic in her questioning, though she did not detect malice or judgment in her tone. Just simple curiosity.

“Those too are two different questions. I cannot lie to you, Lena: the act of killing enthralls and satisfies me. It is difficult to describe, but Talon broke me in such a way that I cannot live without it, I think. It gives me purpose and in that way, I am still a monster. I cannot change that.”

She walked to the balcony, looking out to the water. It was evening now. That lake still looked rather beautiful.

“But the people that I killed did not deserve their fate. Talon did not have me killing criminals and degenerates, but upstanding citizens. Good, innocent people. Even Omnics.”

“Talon operated with their own twisted moral code, but I cannot say that they fully created my own deficiencies. Before their interference, I was already on a destructive path. I am a soldier at heart, but I was a soldier without a war or enemies to fight. They gave me that war, and it so happened that they chose you and your friends.”

“And the killing itself… it was as though with every life I took, I could sustain myself just that much longer. With their deaths, I could feel alive again, if only for a moment.” She scoffed, incredulous at her own explanation. “Like a vampire from a shitty book.”

“But you asked if it was right. Non, it was not. And I do not think for a moment that I have ever thought that. I _am_ a selfish monster, Lena. Talon did not coerce me into that. But for what it is worth, I wish there was another way, though I do not know what such a thing might be.”

Brief silence, as there was not much else to say.

“I believe you, but I think you’re full of shite on one thing.” Lena commented, suddenly.

“What?”

“Notice you haven’t killed anybody in about a month? Unless you’ve been sneaking out behind me and Emily’s backs.”

“Non, I haven’t-“

The realization was sudden and impactful. Curious, very curious.

“I think you’re not as much of a monster as you think you are. Not gonna deny the whole thing, though, but don’t get yourself down. There’s something good in most people.”

Tracer laughed a little bit.

“That’s what Captain Amari used to say, anyways. Damn, I miss her.”

That name…

It caught Widowmaker off-guard, something that she had not thought of in a _long_ time. And suddenly, it all clicked into place.

“Pharah… is her daughter, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

She could not say why. Not yet. It apparently wasn’t common knowledge in Overwatch that _Widowmaker had been the one to kill Captain Amari_. That was not something she was ready to handle.

Though to be honest, she had heard of the Captain’s accomplishments with biochemistry, something out of a science fiction story, if she had heard right. Hear-say from Sombra was not a good source, of course, but even still, there was likely to be some truth to it.

She doubted Captain Amari was truly dead, and that thought suddenly concerned her greatly. Was the Captain hunting her too?

Regardless, it certainly explained Pharah’s apparent dislike of her. Though Widowmaker doubted Pharah knew the truth, it was likely that they shared a mutual feeling. Pharah was a soldier, and she probably knew a bedfellow when she saw one.

The situation had instantly become more complicated, it seemed, but Widowmaker would deal with then when it reared its head.

“They both have the tattoo. The Eye. And a family resemblance. And… I met her, once. Captain Amari, that is. A long time ago.”

“Before Talon, right? I think I remember her mentioning that. She said you’ve been kidnapped…?“

“A public front. It was a trap. By the time Overwatch knew of my whereabouts and when-“

The thought of it, though her memories were still quite fractured, was enough to give her pause. She refused to compromise in front of Tracer ( _again_ ), but still, it was hard to keep an even tone.

“When _he_ died, Talon had already found me. I had already accepted O’Deorain’s deal.” Widowmaker continued.

“She made you a deal?”

“Oui, though I suppose “deal” is a poor choice of words. It was not an offer I could refuse.”

“But…?”

“But I did not refuse it. I did not _want_ to refuse it. Talon enabled me, and enabled with it my destructive behaviors.”

Lena wrapped an arm around her, holding her from behind. The unexpected contact made Widowmaker jump slightly, like an electric shock that ran down her back.

She suddenly felt very warm, very small, and very vulnerable, even though the height difference between the two was rather comical, as Widowmaker herself was around a head taller than the British woman. Behind her was one of the most dangerous agents from Overwatch, and at that moment, she felt nothing but comfort in her grasp.

But more than that, she felt… _safe_. That was very strange. Was this what ‘normal’, felt like? What a foreign concept.

“Y’know, you’re pretty warm for such a cold-blooded killer.” Lena breathed in her ear, just as warm as her embrace.

“Not even Talon can repress _all_ of the body’s heat.”

“I _meant_ the idea that you’re, y’know, not trying to kill all of us.”

…

“You aren’t trying to do that, right?”

“Wha- No, that is not- I was just surprised by the question.”

“Is it really that weird of a question though? You’re a sociopathic assassin that was working for a bloody terrorist organization, you kill for money, bloody hell, ya probably even actually got yourself off with murder at some point.”

“But here ya are, stealing my heart, and Emily’s, and helping all of us run away from those same Talon blokes. Why’s that, do you think?”

“That… is a very complicated answer.”

“Got a busy schedule?”

“Just don’t say I did not warn you.”

“You… You are very attractive to me, Lena.”

“Really? _That’s_ the line you came up with?”

Widowmaker gave her a playful shove. “I wasn’t finished yet.”

“But I do not mean just your body, or your looks. Your- God, English is not doing me any favors, but your identity, your soul, I suppose, is captivating to me.”

“…You lost me there.”

“Désolé, I am not used to speaking about this. Or anything, really.”

She looked out to the balcony again, trying to avoid Lena’s gaze.

“You are… a very good person. An example of something I did not think this world had in it anymore. Working with Talon, the worst of the world collected together for the worst of goals, I was misanthropic enough to think that the world was not worth saving. After all, Talon hardly created the suffering in the world. That Irish _putain_ just manipulates it.”

“You’re inspiring. You have this passion for helping people, for being their hero, and not out of some kind of vanity or self-righteous _connerie_. That is beautiful to me, Lena.”

“You really think that?”

Widowmaker nodded, solemnly.

“Well, to be honest, luv, I don’t have much to say about any of this. Thinkin’s not really my cup of tea, y’see. I like gettin’ me blood pumping, running and gunning, and helping people.”

“And you are very good at that.”

“Ye aren’t half bad either, Amé, if you’d try it more often. Saved me and Emily a right spot of trouble a while back.”

“…I will admit that I was not thinking selflessly during that time.”

“But the outcome didn’t change; we’re safe and sound and not full of holes. Well,” Lena leaned into Widowmaker’s shoulder, nudging her flirtatiously, “’side from the ones that matter.”

“You are insatiable.”

“Says the one that can pound me _and_ Emily for an actual morning without stopping, ya fuckin’-“

“I was not complaining, mon amour.” She breathed over Lena’s ear, causing the unter to shudder slightly.

“Blimey, keep saying it like that and I’ll have you on this fuckin’ balcony.”

“Please, Lena. This is a high class château, we do not _fornicate_ in front of the peasantry.”

“Sorry, Marie Antoinette, I didn’t realize we’d need a permit for a tumble in the hay.”

“Your country is the one that still has a queen, you know.”

“And God bless her, but she’s not seen this prick of yours.”

(The thought somewhat repulsed Widowmaker; not that the idea of fucking royalty was a bad one, but the Queen in question was over two hundred years old at this point, and that was not on her list of fetishes)

“You have a bizarre way of asking for sex.”

“And you’ve a bizarre way of getting me hot and bothered without doin’ anything about it, now ‘aven’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Y’can’t just brush that off. I was randy the whole time thinking about it.”

Widowmaker closed the distance, bringing her voice to what she knew was something more low-pitched and sultry, speaking into Lena’s ear.

“We can’t have that, now can we?”

“You’re bloody right about that.”

Widowmaker chuckled to herself.

“Then come with me.”

“Well yeah, that’s the- oh.”

Widowmaker did another first for herself and grasped Tracer’s hand, pulling her along the corridors from the balcony to the master bedroom, located near the top floor of the [chateau]. Between her fast heartbeat and Tracer’s contagious excitement, Widowmaker was positively thrilled.

She was sure to give her girlfriend a night she wouldn’t forget.

They reached the bedroom in record speed, half-running, half-stumbling over to it, with clothes being discarded almost immediately. Hell, some were even strewn about the hallway to get there, and Widowmaker was sure that she would have to pick it up at a later time, because at the moment, she had only a singular compulsion: to fuck Tracer senseless.

Lips met lips as they tumbled into bed, Lena’s breath hot on Widowmaker’s face as she tried to keep up with the fierce snogging. Widowmaker was not remiss in her ministrations, as at once she occupied one of Tracer’s sizable tits with her hand, massaging it with a gentle but firm caress, and savoring the moans of her lover in response.

After a while, between several bouts of French-kissing and foreplay, the pair stopped to catch their collective breath for a moment, before Lena spoke up.

“Amé… I want you to, erm, well I want you to fuck my face.” Lena’s voice was a bit small, quiet, as she looked down at Widowmaker.

Widowmaker, in turn, ceased her attention to Lena’s nipple and looked back up.

“…Are you sure?” She asked, equally soft.

“Yeah. Mostly. Um… I think so…”

The look on her face betrayed Tracer’s indecisiveness. Widowmaker could sympathize.

“You know,” She began, putting an arm around Tracer’s shoulder. “if you are not ready for that, you do not have to hurt yourself trying to please me.”

“But I _want_ to please you!” Tracer said in earnest, her eyes intense and boring into Widowmaker’s own. “I know everybody talks about how good it feels to get, well, y’know, balls-deep in somebody’s throat.”

Widowmaker’s cock twitched again. This time, she thought that even Lena could tell.

“See? You _do_ want it, too.”

“Of course I do, Lena!” Widowmaker was quick to assure her. “Believe me, I am flattered, but if you’re not ready-“

“Bugger that, I want to give your knob another shot.”

“Lena-“ Widowmaker began, annoyed (though still mollified) at Tracer’s insistence, before Tracer herself cut her off.

“Look, Amé, I know you’re just tryin’ to make me feel better, and I appreciate that, trust me, but I’m not gonna budge on this. Fuck my face.”

Widowmaker was silent for a moment, trying to figure out what to say that might dissuade the stubborn woman in front of her, though she knew better than anyone that Tracer was not one to back down from a challenge.

“Amé, please.” Lena put on an adorable, faux-pouting expression.

Widowmaker could not ignore that look. In fact, she dared to say that no-one could, even if they wanted to.

“It can be… difficult to hold back, for me.” She admitted.

At this, Lena’s eyes lit up again, regaining their usual fervor.

“I _know_. And that’s what I want.”

More silence. Widowmaker found it difficult to think when she was already getting so hard from Tracer’s demeanor. That kind of enthusiasm was seductive and contagious.

“You’re not just doing this to compete with Emily?” Widowmaker asked, trying to change the subject a little bit to regain her composure.

“I’m _always_ competitive, Amé. And she didn’t get all the way down to your bollocks, y’know.”

(Widowmaker recalled very distinctly that Emily had received a helping hand, or several, getting there, but Tracer was not to be swayed with this, so she refrained from bringing that up)

“You know she almost passed out from that, right?”

“I told ya, you can’t change my mind. I’m not gonna give up until you’ve gone and fucked my face raw.”

Finding it suddenly quite warm in the room, Widowmaker could not hold back any longer, her erection now painfully straining against its confines as always.

“Alright, Lena, alright. But we can stop anytime if you are not-“

“Don’t act like you don’t really want this too, ‘cause you’re prick’s hard enough to see right through your fuckin’ pants.”

“…Fair enough.” Widowmaker conceded.

“Speakin’ of the devil…” Tracer began, trying to shimmy Widowmaker’s pants off of her legs, and having some experience with this activity before, she found it a lot easier than the first time, back at the Overwatch bunker.

Widowmaker’s cock was roused from her pants once again, already hard and rearing to be doted upon by a lover in question, and Lena took to this position with a great deal of fervor.

Teasing the head, licking around the glans, Lena made her way down the length in a torturously slow fashion, gingerly stroking the base with her free hand or occasionally cupping Widowmaker’s testicles as she did so.

“Lena…” Widowmaker breathed, though it was not nearly as strong as she’d liked; this attention had made her voice short as well, as honestly, this was one of the most arousing things she had ever witnessed.

At last, Lena’s warm mouth enveloped the crown of Widowmaker’s cock, and the familiar process begun immediately afterwards.

The divinely arousing, lewd moans and ‘schlorps’ and ‘glurghs’ of Lena making her way down Widowmaker’s cock was almost too much to bear. The delirious tightness, the squelching resistance of pushing through something that was clearly not designed for this was enough to lose oneself in, as though Widowmaker was molding Tracer’s throat with her repeated thrusts.

Lena herself responded exceedingly well, mostly lying still (though she was still fingering herself, of course) and letting Widowmaker thrust into her mouth to the best of her ability, even maintaining near-perfect eye contact as she accepted the Frenchwoman’s hand in her hair, helping her up and down the monstrous length.

“Mmph- L-Lena…” Widowmaker moaned. In response, Tracer lifted her head back up to gaze at her lover briefly.

“Not a good angle, huh?”

Widowmaker simply nodded, as words were too difficult at the moment.

Lena shifted her position, leaning on one shoulder, allowing Widowmaker to at least move her hips a little and thrust her dick upwards. It was a marked improvement, she felt.

It was a laborious practice, watching Lena edge closer and closer to the end of the towering cock, but Widowmaker watched with a lewd fascination. It was deeply arousing, how her entire body moved back and forth to throat the extra inches of dick at her disposal, or the way her ass jiggled slightly every time she reached closer to the base of the cock she was lavishing attention on. Something impossibly hot, and something that Widowmaker could not get enough of.

It wasn’t long before they had established a consistent tempo, an obscene game of tug-of-war between Widowmaker’s cock and Lena’s throat. But as this tempo increased, it was only natural that there was a breaking point _somewhere_.

“Mmphm!” Tracer cried (well, it was more like a faint mumble), as her lips finally reached the base, and her tongue managed to hit the tip of Widowmaker’s testicles.

And, at long last, the impossible was achieved: half a meter of monstrous, uncompromising cock fit snugly in Lena’s gullet, suckled by the constrictive walls that surrounded it. Amidst the gurgling and squelching of her lover, attempting to rapidly breathe through her nose at the alien situation, Widowmaker allowed herself a lengthy, satisfied sigh of approval.

The feeling was, of course, absolutely glorious. The texture of Tracer’s throat, the lewd way that her cock-shape bulged along Tracer’s neck and upper sternum, a salacious distension belying the size of the intruder that it held, and of course the look of unadulterated lust in the British woman’s eyes. With her face stretched around the girth of Widowmaker’s cock, it took all of Lena’s skill to concentrate on breathing from her nose. And that image alone was something Widowmaker doubted she would ever forget.

Faster and faster, the occasional “schlorp” or “glurgkh” or other such lewd noises notwithstanding, Widowmaker’s instincts urged her onwards, dying to blow her top with the heavenly feeling of the squirming woman beneath her, her cock sheathed obscenely in its entirety and driving itself deeper and deeper with every hip thrust.

“Pphmphhhkk mmmhh phhuuffpphh!” Lena managed to mutter, and despite being unintelligible, Widowmaker knew enough from context clues to guess what she was saying.

(Well, if it wasn’t “Fuck my face!”, then Widowmaker honestly had no idea.)

She was not one to disagree with this.

Widowmaker began thrusting her hips as hard and as fast as she could, rocketing them in and out of that lubricated fuck-maw, zealously trying to ease the tension built up within her engorged cock. With Tracer’s head hovering more or less perfectly in the right spot for this, Widowmaker found she could slide in and out of her throat at an optimal speed, a hand on the back of Tracer’s scalp to control her movements.

All of this was indeed enough to push her over the edge, a tremendous euphoria shooting through her like lightning as she fired off into Tracer’s esophagus. Hot, sticky ropes of cum splattered across her throat, down her gullet, and into her stomach, a powerful rushing tide of liquid fire.

Like a well-lubricated machine (which isn’t too far off, honestly), her cock spewed forth its seminal payload into any crevice it could find, and Tracer struggled to contain both this behemoth of a load and her own breathing with the best of her ability. This near-asphyxia, combined with the feverish pace of her own hand at her clit, drove her to the brink as well, and feeling the orgasm of her lover exploding within her mouth was fuel for her own mind-shattering experience.

With her eyes rolled upward, Tracer rode out her own ecstasy, while Widowmaker simply held her head in place and emptied her balls with Tracer’s wet mouth.

“Merde! Swallow me to the _fucking_ balls, Lena!”

“Ffmfpfhphhhh!!!”

While most definitely muffled by the intruding slab of cockmeat, Lena’s own orgasmic cry did not go unnoticed. Slamming her cock forward repeatedly as she threw her head back and moaned of her own euphoria, Widowmaker had indeed briefly reached what she imagined heaven was like once again.

And just when she had thought that the moment could not be improved, Lena reached around Widowmaker’s legs and planted both hands directly on her asscheeks, pulling her closer, and with it, further into her mouth, as far as there was throat to go.

Before long, Widowmaker had expended her discharge and withdrew from Lena’s mouth, a schlorping, messy affair, though one that she was thoroughly satisfied. With her cock hanging momentarily limp (though she knew it would harden again soon enough), her mind was oddly rather collected, mostly in sheer amazement.

Lena, evidently, had accomplished exactly what she’d promised.

Speaking of the devil, Tracer herself had obviously had a rougher time of it, her diaphragm rising and falling with a considerable amount of speed as her eyes regained focus and her body relaxed a bit. Her legs were trembling, slightly, undoubtedly the aftershocks of her own orgasm. Widowmaker was still proud she could do that, honestly.

“F-f… fuckin’… wow. Amé.” Lena breathed, rapidly trying to get more oxygen while talking simultaneously, resulting in neither of these things being done efficiently. Though, to be fair, Widowmaker could sympathize; she was rather short of breath herself after such a fantastic orgasm.

“You’re… amazing, Lena.” Widowmaker’s own voice was quiet, reserved, and definitely winded, as she tousled Tracer’s hair. She’d had good sex before, sure, but this was on another level entirely.

“Gimme a minute, I-I need to just breathe a little…”

Widowmaker nodded. She was legitimately impressed that Lena had succeeded on what was essentially her second attempt at oral with something Widowmaker considered most women thought was physically impossible, so she had earned a well-deserved respite.

It lasted only truly a moment, however, as it seemed that Lena was just as insatiable as Widowmaker’s own appetite was, for no sooner had her cock began to erect itself again had Lena simply given her a grin and reached out to grab it once more.

After a brief time of fondling the shaft and balls, Lena directed Widowmaker to move closer, as Lena herself rolled onto her stomach and presented her voluptuous pair of asscheeks to her lover, looking over her shoulder with a smug expression of confidence.

“Y’know what to do, Amé.”

“Indeed I do.” Widowmaker hummed, agreeing intently.

But _really_ , her lover’s ass was absolutely enormous. A derrière of monstrous proportions, unparalleled in size, plumpness, and symmetry, framed by the widest hips she’s ever seen, as though Lena were a goddess, sculpted of clay, and built for the sole purpose of sex.

And it was _all_ hers.

Needless to say, Widowmaker was _fucking ecstatic_.

Grabbing both cheeks with both hands, Widowmaker reveled, briefly, in the sheer surrealist nature of it all, this impossibly large ass threatening to suck her in with its infinite dimensions. Disregarding whether or not she had a serious mental problem, Widowmaker decided instead that she would answer give in completely, and moved to line up her cock with the hole offered to her.

“Whatcha waitin’ for? Put it in already!”

Widowmaker couldn’t help but smile.

“As you wish.”

She steadied her cock and rubbed it against Lena’s hole, teasing it slightly (to Lena’s chagrin), before easing it inside.

“Ohhhh… fuuuuck yeah, that’s the spot…” Lena breathed out, her voice low and husky.

It started out easy, of course, but over time, Widowmaker increased her own tempo as she moved further along her own orgasm, and from the way that Lena moaned her own satisfaction, she guessed it was a mutual effort.

At one point, Lena had arched her back, looking over her shoulder to catch Widowmaker’s eye, and…

 _“God. That look…”_ Widowmaker thought, looking upon Lena’s face and seeing one of absolute lust. Her eyes dilated, her nostrils flared, Lena looked as though she would climax any second now.

“Fuck me, Amé!” Her voice was similarly unmistakable.

 _“Merde, I love this girl.”_ Widowmaker thought briefly, before continuing to ram her hips forward and backward, rhythmically pounding her lover from behind, her balls slapping into Lena’s body as she did.

The tempo built, the rhythm strengthened, and Widowmaker even wondered for a moment how they were still going, when Lena slammed her hips backwards onto Widowmaker’s body.

“F-fuuuck!” Lena came, hard, clamping down onto Widowmaker’s cock as she did so, and it proved to be so intense that she lost her balance for a moment, falling forward slightly, though she managed to catch herself before faceplanting into the bed.

This process, however, had done the unthinkable: her enormous ass, already formidable, was now raised even higher as her body was arched downwards, and as she continued to look back over her shoulder, Lena still looked as though she was not finished.

And Widowmaker had no fucking objections whatsoever.

“G-Go on, Amé. Fuckin’ take my arse. I can handle it.”

Widowmaker understood, acting on a mixture of lust and pure instinct. Withdrawing her cock temporarily, she aimed it right at Lena’s asshole, and after a split-second of breath, she moved in.

Lena groaned immediately, attempting to adjust to Widowmaker’s size and evidently finding it perhaps even too stimulating for the moment, but Widowmaker had forgotten her wherewithal in that moment as she

Lena’s ass was simply too enormous, too shapely, to not be enraptured by it. The way that it bounced lewdly against Widowmaker’s own body as Lena threw her entire body into the motion, or the way her wide hips seemed to dance on her cock; it was all too much for Widowmaker to bear.

She was going to _fucking_ lose it!

“A-Amélie! Cum in me!”

“Lena!”

That was the last straw, naturally.

Bucking, throbbing, and finally reaching the end of her patience, Widowmaker emptied the entire contents of her cum-gorged balls into Lena, depositing load after sticky, hot load as deep as she could muster. Honestly, it was probably a good thing she was shooting blanks, since otherwise, no amount of time travel could be a contraceptive to _that_ , even if she’d taken the right hole.

While the amusing question of whether the resulting offspring would be blue-skinned or not _was_ an idle curiosity, Widowmaker was much too jealous to share Lena with any children seeking to nuzzle her at the breast. Well, outside of Emily, of course.

Her hips colliding with Lena’s own, Widowmaker felt her mind vanish as the small death of a ferocious orgasm overtook her senses, her cock overloading her nerves for the timebeing. She thread her head back, moaning her ecstasy to the room, thrusting her cock as hard as she could as it expelled its discharge.

Even before drawing out of Lena, had already begun to feel the fatigue of their night of passion overtake her as well, as she felt a little weak in the limbs after such a ferocious orgasm.

Leaning downwards, her cock now softening (for the moment, at least), Widowmaker tentatively wrapped her arms about Lena’s midsection, who was still recovering from her own euphoria, it seemed. There, the pair of them simply laid still, soaking in the warmth of the afterglow, until they became subdued.

Rather exhausted, Widowmaker closed her eyes, intending for it to simply be a brief reprieve, but eventually did not find the strength to re-open them, as suddenly, sleeping next to Lena in this warm bed had become a very appealing prospect.

Somewhere, before she drifted off to sleep, she felt Lena’s own arms encircle her back, and perhaps even subconsciously, she smiled at this.

-Later-

An indeterminate amount of time had passed before Widowmaker woke up to Lena prodding her, slightly, with a single finger to the side.

“Amé, I’ve got a question for you.” Her voice was quiet, small, almost shy, in stark contrast to the way that she had wantonly thrown herself at Widowmaker’s cock not even a short while ago.

“Hmmm? Mon chéri?”

“All of this… it’s not just about sex, is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, well, why you’re still here. With me. Well, with us. Me and Emily, I mean. You mentioned somethin’ like it earlier. Been thinking about it, y’see.”

“You are right, Lena. It is not just about sex.”

“Sooo… You mean…?”

“I have become attached to you, Lena. I… find myself caring about you in a way that is not familiar to me. Something I have not felt in a long time.”

“Obviously, your voice, hell, your body alone is gorgeous. Sexy. But it is not just that. I do this because I also like it when you climax as well, when you cannot help but say my name. It is… intoxicating, Lena.”

“When you cannot stand to take any more, it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. And the most insatiable, for me. I want to see more of that.”

And, honestly, Widowmaker meant every word of it. It wasn’t just the body that appealed to her, nor the voice, nor even the personality. It was, in a sense, the sum of Lena. All of her. All of her was the hottest thing Widowmaker had ever experienced. And she was fucking addicted to it.

Infatuation it might be, Widowmaker could not stop herself. It was simply impossible to control her desires when Lena was around. Not just her cock, either, but Widowmaker’s soul, what was left of the damn thing, anyways, wanted Lena too. Like some kind of sexual drug.

“B-blimey. When you put it like that…”

Tracer reached up and kissed her, full on the lips. It was obviously passionate and motivated, if a little flustered. Widowmaker found it all the more alluring, returning the kiss with her own fervor.

They remained like this for a while, savoring the feeling of entwined lips, before Lena leaned back for a moment, catching her breath.

“Erm, can I… say something, right quick?”

“Mmm?”

“Well, it’s just, um…”

Tracer moved a stray hand to caress Widowmaker’s cheek, holding it there as she made eye contact. Widowmaker could see… well, everything, there. Lust, satisfaction, fatigue, and even more: a deep, uncompromising affection.

It was overwhelming.

“The truth is, well, I-I love you, Amélie.”

There was no response from Widowmaker. There could be none, as she simply had no words for it. This statement of fact from Lena had triggered within her an overpowering force. This was not the same euphoria as the satisfying orgasm that she had just experienced, but instead was something more subtle, though still equally powerful; a warm, heavy feeling, centered in her abdomen, that screamed at her a simple, primordial instinct.

Honestly, she wanted to cry, but that would ruin the moment.

“I-I-I really do, and, ermmmph-“

Widowmaker kissed her immediately, pulling her close. God, her face was warm, her tongue was sweet, and her lips even sweeter. The distance gone, and then were passionately exploring everything they could. Widowmaker swore it was like wildfire.

Breaking this contact briefly to breathe, Widowmaker looked back into the eyes of this woman and responded to her with as much confidence as she could muster.

“I love you too, Lena.”

It was hard to separate from Lena’s body, truly, after this, as both of them tried to cling as closely as possible. Breast on breast, skin on skin, and Widowmaker was still quite erect, though at the moment, no earthly feeling could compare to the amount of fire that she had for kissing Lena at that very moment.

They kissed for as long as humanly possible, as eventually both needed a spare breath, though between this and the mind-melting sex they’d just had, Widowmaker found herself rather exhausted. She half-pulled, half-dragged Lena with her into a warm embrace, lying on her side as her heartrate slowed to a speed that was much more familiar to her, though still elevated about the norm, obviously.

“Hold me, mon chéri.”

“You got it, luv.”

God, it felt amazing. Lena was so warm and Widowmaker was enthralled by her arms, tangled about her waist, holding her tight. For the moment, she buried her face in Lena’s hair, letting it rest there while the butterflies fluttered about in her chest. It had been a _long_ time since that feeling had come to her.

But she wouldn’t give it up for anything.

As the warmth was omnipresent and the raging fire within her quelled somewhat, Widowmaker found enough peace to begin to drift off to sleep, and for a time, she simply lay there. She felt Lena’s body, relaxed against her own, behind her.

For once, all was quite in the world, it seemed.

It was then that an epiphany was reached for the ex-Talon assassin, something quite profound for her: Widowmaker was dead, or perhaps she _had_ actually died after getting shot in the arm, but more importantly there was someone else, some Amélie Lacroix; this odd, less-familiar woman, had taken her place.

And Amélie was lying in bed with a very naked, very wonderful Lena Oxton.

This thought pleased her enough, with the sighs of a contented, sleeping girlfriend in her ear. She did not have any trouble falling sleep this time, with the blissful day fading into blissful dreams.

-Meanwhile-

Sombra had finished cleaning up her most recent euphoric explosion from her seat (this time she had a towel) by the time she had gone back to the recordings from her desktop computer.

Apparently they’d even said their sappy “I love you’s” and everything. She had not pegged Widowmaker for the romantic type, but even still, it was an interesting development. Taking a moment to think, Sombra was now extremely curious how she could even get at the Frenchwoman if there was that Overwatch bitch riding her dick all day, not to mention her _other_ Irish conquest.

Truly a mystery, though she supposed it was one she could solve later. After all, she had more camera data to sift through, and that wouldn’t watch itself.

-The following morning, at the château-

“Oi, Frenchie, you’ve got a call.”

Widowmaker, who was cuddling Lena at the time, looked up, surprised to see Emily holding Lena’s mobile and gesturing to her. She immediately assumed it was someone from Overwatch, as Widowmaker herself did not own a phone anymore, for fairly obvious reasons.

She reluctantly displaced herself from Tracer’s breasts and walked over to Emily, taking the phone from her outstretched hand.

“What is this about?” She inquired.

“Oh, you’re here. Well, there. You know what I mean.” The voice was the distracted cadence of a particular Swiss woman.

“Doctor Ziegler? What is it?”

“You see, we, erm, Fareeha and I have been talking, and, we…”

“…Oui, doctor?”

“She agreed to your idea.”

…

 _Damn._ That went better than she had anticipated.

“That is not what I was expecting.”

“Well… when did you want to, erm, do that _idea_?”

“Currently we are at my château near Annecy. I trust you know where it is already?”

“Ja, ja, we, well, we looked into it.”

“Then feel free to arrive whenever you please. We’ll be waiting.”

“I- very well.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Have a good day, doctor.”

“Y-you too.”

The call concluded and Amélie was rather smug about the whole thing, honestly. She deposited the mobile on one of the dressers nearby and returned to the bed, cuddling Lena. Soon after, evidently upon getting a snack of some sort, Emily returned to the bed as well, and the three women relaxed in each other’s warmth as they fell asleep.

Amélie had never felt better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years everybody!  
> So, some housekeeping stuff for the time being:
> 
> I've been relatively quick in posting these chapters for this story because they were mostly pre-written, barring some last-minute editing on my part, but here is where I will enter a hiatus on this particular story for a while, as I have been working on a combination of school and other stories for a little over a month right now, and I want to take a break from this one for a bit.
> 
> However, these five chapters are not the last you'll see of Widowmaker and her harem adventure, I assure you, so do not worry.
> 
> Thanks for reading all the way up this part, though!


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